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messrmoonyy · 1 day ago

Text

- rest stop

Joel miller x Fem!reader

Request- Hiiiii. You one write a fic of reader x Tess trying to be quiet even travelling with joel and Ellie. And I was wondering would you do something like that with reader and Joel. But also make it car smex 👀👀 maybe when they’re camping out in the woods and Ellie’s asleep but Joel and reader get busy in the truck they take from Bill? Please

A/N- long time now post huh! This is my first time writing Joel. Which is wild after being in the fandom so long and because I really wanna fuck that old man . But the Joel x reader girlies scare me a bit lmao ( why are so many of you children? ) anyways. So this is my first attempt at Joel and kinda became like if you put Troy’s Joel and Pedros Joel in a blender. And it spit out this Joel. My Joel. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ MDNI || implied age gap( reader is mentioned to be born pre outbreak and was too young to drive pre outbreak too. Making reader at bare minimum 20 years old ), smut: car sex, unprotected p in v, fingering ( reader receiving ) prawn with a bit of plot. ( wc- 5.3k )

AO3 | Masterlist

“- if tanks were so damn useful why would they just abandon them on the road like this? Oh right probably for road blocks right? I heard they used cars and trucks to block people trying to leave cities and towns but wouldn’t that just make things worse? I think- “

Ellie had been yapping for the better part of 2 hours. You didn’t know how she constantly had something to talk about. It was as if she could link any subject to something else with just a beat. One moment be discussing the comic she’d stolen from Bills and then somehow end up on a 45 minute tangent about tanks.

You’d all been driving most of the day and she’d been talking the majority of it. The only silence had been when she’d given into sleep for a couple hours around lunch time, but woken up and gone straight back to it. It was fascinating to you how much she’d opened up in a short space of time.

Joel looked ready to screw up his other ear too to fully drown her out at this rate. His hands grasping the steering wheel so hard his bruised knuckles were blanching. You felt a little bad for him, he truly was getting the brunt of it after you’d let Ellie take the front seat. She’d been so excited about being in a car and so you’d let her claim the front seat for a while.

You’d gotten quite the glare from Joel for that.

“ - I think if I had a car I’d like one like this. Like a truck. You know? You can fit more stuff in it. Hey, did you have a car?” Ellie’s head popped around the car seat to look at you in the back with a bright smile on her face

“ no Ellie. My dad had a busted up work van but that was about it. I wasn’t old enough to drive. Joel was though, weren’t you Joel? “ you smiled and she laughed at that

“ right. Did you have a truck? You must’ve cause-“ Joel caught your eye in the rear view mirror, a mildly pissed expression on his face at you directing the conversation right back onto him. You just gave him a wink and went back to flicking through one of the magazines you’d stolen from Frank's pile back in Lincoln- which were thankfully far more PG than the ones Ellie had found belonging to Bill. All ancient gossip magazines, celebrities having their red carpet looks ripped to shreds. It made you smile a little to try to imagine any of them now. Was there a clicker stumbling around in shredded haute couture?

After another 30 minutes or so Joel seemed to have finally reached his daily limit of Ellie’s roadside ramblings and declared it was time to stop for the night.

“ alright. That’s it for today. Goddamn kid “ he grumbled and slowed down a little as he turned off the highway and through a bumpy field- that Ellie found highly amusing as she jostled in her seat- and into a stretch of woods. Thankfully the trees were wide enough for him to manoeuvre Bills ancient Chevy deep enough in that it couldn’t be spotted from the road. Not that you expected anyone else had a damn car this far out from a QZ these days.

And after an equally talkative dinner of long expired tinned ravioli, in which Joel tried and failed to teach Ellie some table manners like the true southern gent he seemed to be deep deep down. You all set up and settled in for the night.

You were used to sleeping on the ground.

Whether that was from the weeks it had been since leaving Boston. Or from the times you, Joel and Tess had travelled your ways over to Bill and Franks. Hell even your bed back in the zone may as well have been the ground with how fucking uncomfortable it was.

But for some reason you just couldn’t drift off tonight.

Ellie had had no trouble once Joel had promised her they’d be safe out here. She was flat out in her sleeping bag, mouth hanging open, snoring softly. You’d think the kid was in a luxury hotel, not a musty sleeping bag on the forest floor.

You looked up at the dark night sky above you, the trees blocking out the majority of the view. It was a little spooky, just like Ellie had secretly whispered when you’d all been settling down to sleep.

You turned your head, trying to locate Joel. He’d insisted on there being a watch. You thought it was pointless, you were all out in the middle of nowhere. No where close to any towns or cities that a group of raiders could have set up camp in. There’d be no infected out this way either. But he’d been his usual stubborn self and declared they needed a watch. And he’d go first. Of course. Because that meant he could stay up all right and ‘forget’ to switch with you.

Stubborn bastard through and through.

And so there he was now, sat up in the truck.

He had one of the camping lanterns he’d taken from Bill propped on the dash, softly illuminating the space so he could see what he was doing. His face stern in concentration as he tapped the end of a pencil against his scruff covered chin.

He was taking this job seriously for a man that didn’t want to do it.

But Tess had always been the driving force in your little trio. She was the brains. You were more often than not the distraction. And Joel the braun. It had worked so well. Until well… it hadn’t. And Joel respected Tess enough to fulfil her dying wish.

Even if that was taking this random kid half way across the damn country chasing a lead so half cooked it was basically raw.

You watched him for a while longer. How handsome he looked in the dim lamp light. The frown lines that seemed permanently engraved into his face, the way his brows furrowed as he concentrated - creating the little wrinkles in between

You missed kissing those lines. Tracing your fingers over them in the half lit apartment you’d shared in Boston, close enough to the outside wall that there was a constant chunk of light from the watchtowers seeping through the half destroyed curtains.

God you missed him. Curling up to him for warmth. His large hands tracing soft patterns on your back, whispering lowly in your ear when you woke up from a nightmare.

He’d never been one for PDA. And then with the whole… Tess thing. And Bill and Frank thing. And well… everything. He had barely touched you since that morning before you’d ended up with the kid. And that was weeks ago.

Maybe it was a little silly. In the space of a few weeks you’d lost three friends. Gained a kid. Gained a whole fuck load of responsibility for said kid… and yet here you were lusting over Joel in your sleeping bag? Stupid.

Or… maybe not. Maybe it was… what was needed. A distraction. Something good in the shitty shit pile you’d found yourself in.

Well that’s what you told yourself anyway as you double checked Ellie was still snoring. And climbed out of your sleeping bag.

You pulled open the passenger side door of the truck, climbing up into the seat and closing the door carefully behind you. Joel had the map spread out on the dash in front of him, flask of coffee in one hand and a pencil in the other. Because coffee had been dubbed very important in the ‘ only grab the essentials ‘ talk before they’d left Lincoln. Obviously.

“ ain’t your turn for watch yet darlin’ “ he mumbled, not looking up from the map. It had a bunch of scribbles and arrows. Clearly his nonsensical version of directions that you would no doubt have to try figure out tomorrow. It also seemed like Ellie had gotten a hold of the pencil at some point, some of the areas Joel had crossed off as suspecting to be total no goes in terms of infected, now had little monster faces scribbled beside them.

“ I know. Can’t sleep “ you said as you slumped back in the seat and glanced back out towards Ellie. Still out like a light, the little camping lamp by her feet casting a soft glow over their makeshift camp.

He hummed a response. Setting his flask into the drinks holder and letting his hand drop absentmindedly onto your thigh instead.

“ Tryna figure out the quickest route from here to Cody but… most of these highways here will probably be blocked off from way back when “ he pointed with the pencil at some of his scribbles and lines. “ some of these smaller towns might not be so bad for bunking down for a night but can’t be too sure. Close to highways. Good for raiders “

And he’d know all about that wouldn’t he

You’d joined the little group heading for Boston right at the last hurdle. Had only partook in one or two raids. You were young. Pretty. They’d throw you out as a distraction to lure people in and the others did the most of the dirty work. But you’d heard the stories. And you’d been around Tess and Joel long enough to know what they were capable of. What you were capable of now too.

“ sooo… that way?” You asked, pointing at what seemed to be his planned route for now. But if you were honest. You weren’t focussing on the map at all. Or what he was talking about

“ what? No. That’s a no go. Absolutely fuckin not. Look here- “ his thumb started rubbing soft circles into your jean covered thigh and it was like an off switch had flipped on your ears. Not taking in a single word he was saying to you. Not when he was touching you for the first time in weeks. Even if it was just a tiny pathetic thing like that.

It made your mind drift. Memories of his lips right there. The soft tickle and burn his scruff would cause as he kissed your skin. It made your pussy throb just thinking about it.

“ - there’s likely to be infected here. And here. Which leads us with no choice but to head up here to KC. But big city like that was probably locked down, ain’t really heard much on it so I don’t know if it’s even still an active quar- you even listenin?” His hand squeezed your thigh softly and you cleared your throat blinking quickly

“ what? Sure I’m. I’m listening. Ugh KC. KC. Kansas city?”

“ lucky guess “ he grumbled and let his eyes drift back to his map “ why don’t you try get some sleep?”

His hand was still on your thigh, his thumb back to rubbing soft circles. God how was something so tiny making you want to scream?

“ not even tired “

You closed your eyes a moment letting out a slow, deep exhale. Get it together you idiot.

But Joel knew you well. Knew your body well. And you didn’t have to open your eyes to see the smirk on his face when he spoke again

“ oh. I see how it is baby girl “ you wanted to scoff. Or scowl. Or tell him maybe he should get some sleep because clearly he was imagining things. But then his hand moved up. Deft fingers unbuttoning your jeans and pulling down the fly.

He really could read you like a damn book couldn’t he?

“ this the real reason you came in here huh?” He murmured as his thick fingers slipped through your slick folds, dragging the slippery mess you were making up to your clit.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your head tipping back against the worn leather of the seats headrest “ asked you a question there babygirl “

You whined in response. How could you possibly form a solid thought- never mind a sentence- when his finger was working at your clit like that. Slow but purposeful circles that were making your legs feel like jelly already.

God you were pathetic. A couple weeks without his cock and this is what it was doing to you?

“ so what if it was?” You whispered, your hips involuntarily rocking up against his hand.

Even just the slightest touches from him made you want to cry out in a mixture of frustration and pleasure. Like there was an open nerve, exposed and raw, and his focussed touch sent sparks shooting up your spine.

“ naughty little thing “ he murmured as he kept working at you with his thick fingers, wrestling the the tight constraints of your jeans to try get his hand in a little more “ tell me what y’need “

“ you “ you whined without a moment’s hesitation “ you Joel you “

He was always such a smug bastard. The smirk on his face at your response made you want to jump right out of the car just to piss him off. But you didn’t have the self control for that. Not even remotely. Especially when you had his fingers pressing at your entrance like that, the muscles already contracting as if trying to pull him in.

But two could play that game.

You reached over and flicked off the lantern. The last thing you needed was this being visible if Ellie woke up. And then your hand moved over to his half hard cock starting to tent his jeans.

He gave a soft grunt of a sound as you palmed at him through the worn denim.

“ acting like you’re not in the mood for it too old man?” You whispered, already a little breathless just from his fingers.

He doesn’t answer you with words. But one of his fingers pushed into your welcoming warmth, making you gasp and your eyes flutter closed for a moment

“ look at that “ he murmured as he carefully added a second with a slightly embarrassing amount of ease “ suckin me in so tight… tryna keep me right here doll? Right here?” your soft velvety walls squeeze around him in answer. Desperate for anything after weeks of absolutely nothing.

Everything about Joel was so big. You were damn sure not a single other person could make you feel this good with their fingers alone. Your own fingers never even made a dent in the sensations he gave you. Your cunt stretching around his digits almost obscenely. Gripping onto him in a way that was down right pathetic.

“ there y’are. Relax f’me sweet pea “ he mutters, feeling you open up more as warm waves of pleasure washed over your body. The space inside you welcoming him back home after so long without him “ good girl, open up f’me… there we go “

Your hand was still idly palming at his crotch, but god damn was it hard to focus when he was speaking to you like that. Touching you like that.

Your free hand grasped onto his arm as he kept steadily fucking you open with his fingers, soft sopping sounds filling the truck in a way that made you whimper softly. The tendons and muscles in his arm flexing under your finger tips with every purposeful curl of his fingers.

“ Joel “

“ I know baby I know “ he crooned “ gonna come on my fingers? “ you nodded eagerly, writhing around in the seat, eyes closed as you focused on how good he was making you feel and nothing else. Not even embarrassed at how fast he’d gotten you to the edge. You’d been lusting after him for two weeks without getting anything, so you weren’t much surprised.

“ y-yeah. Gonna come for you Joel “ you whispered as his fingers curled up, his thumb pressing against your clit. It made a choked sound escape you in some hopeless attempt to keep your volume levels down. “ fuck- Joel “

“ shh shhh nice and quiet. Don’t need ya wakin the kid before I’ve even had you on my cock sweet pea “ the half promise of finally getting something more than his fingers was enough to spur you on. To have your hips rocking up to meet the pumping motions of his fingers. Just enough to have you tumbling over the edge.

Your fingers digging into the tanned skin of his arm as you bit down on your bottom lip, back arching off the worn leather as your orgasm washed over you in a powerful, blissful wave. Trying as hard as you possibly could to be quiet. But some soft squeaks and whines slipped out your throat anyway “Joel”

“ there we go. That’s my good girl. Nice and quiet “ he murmured as he worked you through it, pumping his fingers in and out as best he could with your jeans still on “ makin a fuckin mess of my hand. Reckon I ain’t ever see you this wet “ he teased as he gently brought his hand to a stop when your death grip on his wrist released. Little crescent shaped marks left in place of your fingers.

“ fuck you miller “ you panted softly which made him chuckle. That deep rumble of a sound that often sounded more sarcastic than joyful. But you could usually drag some kind of joy out of him. Usually.

“ I do plan on it babygirl “ he smirked as he pulled his hand free, his fingers soaked up to the knuckle. The shiny sticky mess catching on the thin chunk of moonlight making its way through the trees and into the truck.

Maybe he had been right. Smug bastard.

You watched him with half lidded eyes still catching your breath, as he sucked them clean. It made your blood boil hot, your cunt clench around nothing. Missing those magic fingers of his deep inside you already.

“ missed your sweet taste babygirl “

oh the things you’d do to have him between your thighs right now. That familiar sensation of friction burn from his beard, his strong hands keeping your thighs spread. Refusing to let you close them until he’d made you come on his face multiple times. Not stopping until your were a shaking sobbing mess.

But that would have to wait for Jackson.

Your hand still laid idle on his now clearly fully hard cock in his jeans and a gentle squeeze of your fingers made him grunt.

“ get over here. Now “ he muttered, you didn’t need to be told twice.

It was not even remotely as easy or sexy as the books you read made it out to be. In fact it was damn right awkward. Wrestling your jeans off in the small space, especially when you were still trembling just a little. Clambering your way onto his lap as he wrestled with the stiff seat lever to try shove it back and give him more space.

“ goddamn piece of shit Chevy “ Joel huffed and finally managed to get the seat to shift back a little. It was only a couple inches extra room. But it was better than nothing.

Now wasn’t particularly the best time- or place- for making it last or wasting anymore time on foreplay. So you settled in his lap and immediately reached for his belt, tugging it open.

“ aw. Come in your pants old man?” You grinned as you unbuttoned his jeans, noticing a small damp spot on his boxers. Clearly only pre come. But you’d never miss an opportunity to call him old.

“ shut up, brat “ he grumbled, grasping your hips and squeezing in a silent request to lift up. Right. You were in kind of a rush here. Ellie could decide to wake up at any minute. And you weren’t in the mood to be interrupted.

You lifted your hips as he wrapped a hand around his leaking cock, gently rubbing the tip back and forth between your slick folds. The action making your breath hitch a little, still so sensitive “ you want it?” He murmured, coating himself in your wetness, occasionally notching himself at your entrance for just a second before moving again “ tell me. Tell me how bad this pretty little pussy wants it “

“ god Joel “ you whispered, pressing your forehead onto his for a moment “ need it so bad. Been thinking about it every damn day “ He just chuckled and stole a kiss before gently nudging his blunt tip to your weeping entrance again.

“ yeah? This what you need baby?” He said as he gently pushed in, hands tight on your hips to ease you down inch by tantalising inch “ that’s it babygirl let me in... So fuckin wet f’me… “ he murmured, pushing gently against the resistance of your cunt. Shushing you softly when a sweet whimper escaped your lips as he slipped in deeper and deeper “ shit you’re always so goddamn tight f’me “

Your lips part in a steady exhale as he eases his way in, stretching out your soft warm walls as your body welcomes him back home. Settling into the space inside you like it was carved out exactly for him, made for him. Maybe it was.

He fit with you so perfectly. Your hips flush as his tip kissed your cervix in a way that would’ve been painful if he was even a half inch bigger. It was truly the most perfect fit.

“ y’okay?” He murmured because sure Joel liked to fuck you like an animal in heat most of the time. But he was nothing if not a gentleman when it came to consent.

Southern charm and all that.

“ Hell yeah “ you whisper with a soft laugh that makes him chuckle as you wriggle your hips a little, reminding yourself how incredible it felt to have the thick weight of him inside you again “ missed this. Missed you “

“ missed my cock more like babygirl “

“ it’s one and the same “

“ maybe “ he scoffed and rubbed gentle circles onto your hips with his thumbs as he let you adjust as long as you needed. Sitting there completely stuffed full, the pressure almost overwhelming at first.

You start to move after a few moments, your hands resting on his shoulders for leverage as you push yourself up and down on his cock, building a painstakingly slow rhythm. You had to take it slow. No matter how many times you’d fucked him it always took you a minute to get used to him again.

You could tell he wanted more. In an ideal world he’d have you bent over the hood of the truck hammering into you like his life depended on it. One hand yanking your hair the other squeezing your hip. Or pinning your hands behind your back if he was feeling like being a real dick.

But this wasn’t an ideal world. So he’d take what you could give him. And he wasn’t a total bastard. He knew you needed to take it at your own pace right now. So he’d let you.

“ that’s my girl. Take it easy “ he murmured, his breath warm on your face, your lips just a few inches apart “ look how pretty you look takin my cock like that “ he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip for a moment before he pulls you to his mouth, your lips pressing together hungrily in a eager kiss. He swallows your soft whines and moans “ nice and easy doll. Nice and easy. Quiet f’me “ he murmured against your lips, pressing more soft but determined pecks between his words

Once you were reacquainted with his cock stretching out your cunt just right. You gave him a small nod and shifted in his lap to let him take over. And your thighs were already starting to burn from the awkward angle

“ made for me ain’t you baby? “ he grunted as if reading your mind. Feeling the way his cock fit inside you so perfectly. Each careful rise and fall of your body letting you feel every ridge. Every vein. Rubbing against your insides in the most delicious way. “ just f’me “

“ yes Joel “ you nodded because truly you felt you were. He’d ruined you for life. You were damn certain no other man could compare. No other man could make you feel this way.

“ that’s my good girl, takin it so well f’me “ his hands still grasped the plush flesh of your hips, letting you go at your own pace. For now anyway

“ i miss our shitty bed “ you whispered breathlessly into his neck, you hands grasping his shoulders as he lazily started to fuck up into you, keeping your pace but helping you out just a little. And unable to control himself. Still keeping it slow, probably more on account of the fact you were useless at being quiet. And Ellie was only a few feet away “ a roof over our head “

“ I know baby girl “ he grunted giving you another squeeze “ second we find Tommy I’m takin you to the closet fuckin bed I can find “ at least he was still being optimistic that Tommy might still be in the settlement he’d mentioned exactly once before going radio silent.

A bed sure did sound nice though.

You missed lazy morning sex when he’d wake you up with his hand rubbing you through your underwear and his morning wood poking your back. Or having your body damn near folded in half as he pounded into you so hard your brain turned to utter mush, legs hooked over his shoulders like a rag doll.

“ promises promises old man “ you whispered, shifting in his lap so that your clit brushed the soft thatch of hair at his base in the most delicious way “ shit “

“ that’s it baby girl. Take what ya need “ you rocked your hips, your slick making his curls sticky and warm. He met your pace, sensing your growing desperation, thrusting up into you quicker. Harder. You looked down at where your body’s joined, the way your pussy lips spread obscenely around his thick length. A hint of creamy whiteness starting to stick to his greying curls, more than likely the evidence of your first orgasm.

“ y’like that huh baby?” He murmured as he caught you watching, that stupid fucking smirk on his face again that you could never be certain if you wanted to kiss it off him. Or slap it off him “ lookin at how messy you're bein f’me?”

“ yeah” you panted, squeezing down on him, your walls fluttering around the deep intrusion of him. Gripping him. Sucking him in.

“ keep doin that shit and I’ll blow right now “ he grunted, making you smile as you squeezed down on him again just for good measure

“ easy there old man “

“ I’ll give you old fuckin man “ he muttered and readjusted his grip on your body, his hands splaying over your hips as he shifted in the seat “ old fuckin man “ he pushed your body down on his cock with more force than before.

Clearly done being patient.

You gasped loudly, clamping a hand down on your mouth when you realised just how loud you’d been. Desperately grasping at him with your free hand as he used you like a damn fleshlight, his grip on your hips bruising rather than gentle now.

And god did you hope it’d bruise.

“ that’s it baby girl. Take it. C’mon it’s what you wanted ain’t it? You been thinkin about this? Layin out there too fuckin horny to even sleep? Ain’t that right?” He’d always had a damn filthy mouth. Always knew exactly how to make your cheeks flame and pussy throb. Which had surprised you at first. For a man so silent and grumpy in public, he sure could get vocal in the bedroom. Or the truck you figured “ this what you needed? Needed fillin up babygirl?”

You nodded eagerly, your brows furrowed and eyes closed as his decelerate thrusts knocked every whisp of air out your lungs. Your brain going foggy. Lost in the sensations of his cock stretching you out, hitting the most devastating spot inside you with every thrust of his hips. Every drag of the heavy weight against your sensitive walls, still sparking like a live wire from your first orgasm“ use your words. Tell me “

“ god- Joel. “ you could barely form a sentence with him fucking you like that. The truck shaking with the efforts. Creaking softly like a scene from one of those cheap and cheesy 80s movies Joel has shown you before.

“ c’mon now. Use that pretty mouth of yours. And tell me “ he said firmly. Mockingly. Still slamming you down to meet his deep thrusts

“ y-yes this is… what I needed “ you panted out, eyes fluttering closed as you clawed at his shoulders , face falling into his neck “ missed you so bad. Missed your cock Joel “ you whined pathetically, muffling your sounds against his skin

“ yeah baby I know “ he whispered, breathless himself “ I know. Needed it so bad huh? Needed this pretty pussy fillin up. I know “

His hand slipped down between your bodies and he started working at your clit again. Quick and purposeful movements that matched the rhythm of his ever increasingly frantic thrusts. You were so wet he could barely even find any friction.

“ fuck Joel I’m- “ you moaned loudly against his neck, cutting yourself off as you felt your body growing hotter. The knot deep in your belly getting tighter and tighter

“ I know sweet pea. Gonna come all over my cock? Yeah? “ he grunted and you knew that tone of voice. That breathless, husky tone. He was just as close as you were “ gonna be a good girl f’me? Can feel you grippin me like a damn vice. Know you need it “

You nodded quickly, nails digging into his shoulders as you struggled more and more to control the sounds slipping past your lips. The sound of your skin hitting his filling the truck, the lewd wet sounds of your cunt sucking him in. Soaking him. The sticky, filthy mess you were making. And then the dam broke.

The combined sensations of his fingers. His cock. His husky voice in your ear. You were a goner. Biting down on his shoulder to try to dampen some of your whines and squeals of pleasure. Your entire body trembling and twitching in his lap, clamping down on him in a way that clearly was enough for Joel too.

Because he’d barely pulled you off him when he spilt his load onto your thigh with a deep, sexy moan. The hot sticky mess painting your skin.

Sometimes you wished he’d finish inside. Fill you to the brim with his load. But the last thing you needed was a goddamn baby.

The trucks windows had fogged up now. The air in their thick and warm, sweat beading on Joel’s forehead. You looked down to see the hair covering your mound sticky and messy, Joel’s own greying curls exactly the same. You really hoped there was a river or creek somewhere around here. You hadn’t entirely thought about the aftermath.

Thinking with your pussy and not your brain. Clearly.

But it was worth it.

“ well holy shit “ you whispered and laughed a little as you pushed your hair from your own sweaty face “ never let me go that long without you again “

Joel raised an eyebrow and then chuckled himself, shaking his head, his hand gently rubbing along your side. So gentle and tender compared to how he’d just been knocking the air out of your lungs.

“ Whatever you say sweet pea “ he pressed a kiss to your lips. Far too sweet for a man like him, but you’d never complain “ now get your ass back in that sleeping bag and get some sleep “

You grinned against his lips and stole another kiss before giving him a mock salute

“ yes sir “

#posts this and runs away #I’m trying a new banner style again cause why not #anyways #lemme bang that old man #joel miller x reader #Joel miller #Joel miller smut #the last of us #Ellie Williams #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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rum-and-shattered-dreams · 12 hours ago

Text

To answer the original question- we went to libraries and read books (often encyclopedias) and periodicals. Libraries still exist. Please try them sometime. And sometimes we did the assignment by flashlight while sitting in the back of a tree prop to weigh it down so it didn’t fall forward on a dancer while it was onstage for a daytime performance of your school’s Nutcracker production when that class was next on your schedule. (Specific example but you get the point.)

But to expand on last-minute things - I used to call it “bullshitting (an essay).” And I thought, at the time, that it wasn’t actually useful or good - that it was irresponsible or lazy. But now, looking back on it, it was, in fact, a coping mechanism and a damn good one considering how absolutely awful our public school system (in the US) actually is. (But that’s a topic I’ve already ranted about.)

I was undiagnosed for ADHD and autism and had demand avoidance, anxiety, and short-term memory issues. Those things sucked in an environment where memorizing and regurgitating things on a schedule for a grade that everyone emphasized could affect the rest of your life were the priorities.

So instead of memory and regurgitation, I developed, over time, my own skills in being able to make something up on the spot that contained what I could manage to remember accurately without bringing attention to the parts I couldn’t remember. Bonus points if the essay was part of a test and I could look at the rest of the test and logically pull information from it. (Oh look, research, problem-solving, awareness, and logic skills!) And it turns out that that’s pretty useful even just in everyday conversation. I learned to examine the environment and be aware of everything around me that might be helpful (look around the room for anything that might have a word I can’t remember how to spell or some piece of useful information.) I learned how to communicate through writing quickly and clearly and how to organize my thoughts on the spot.

If it was an essay that required research, I’d gather the materials to do the research then just accept that none of it was going to happen until right before it was due and I’d churn it out at the last minute.

Again, I thought this was procrastination and it was bad but it turns out it was a coping mechanism for poor memory and anxiety. It would have taken so much more effort to break it up over days and basically have to start over every day because I couldn’t remember what I researched yesterday. And it sounds backwards but I was less anxious about getting it done and more anxious about if it was good enough once it was done so it was less stressful to have less time to worry over it after it was done and probably end up screwing it up because of constantly trying to make it better. The procrastination method meant that done at all was better than not done and helped me get over seeking perfection.

So yes, these are learned skills and also good coping mechanisms and they cannot be learned without practice. Having AI do it for you means you are depriving yourself of the incredibly useful skills of research, awareness of the world around you, and of showing what you know/remember in a coherent way while giving yourself grace and privacy for what you’ve forgotten.

Also you’re missing out on the chance to meet people at the library and they often have cool art displayed that you get to see. Seriously, go there. Talk to some fellow humans.

Also the hand drawing thing works. It works for everything in drawing. Anatomy, animals, buildings, etc. If you are bad at it and want to improve, 1000 quick (like 1 minute) drawings of the thing will do it.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but it won't build you the the muscles.

#mo’s ramblings and such

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dear-aubade · 2 days ago

Note

Could you make a joel x reader smut where reader is picked up by Joel & Tess on a hunt one day and has been staying with them. After a while Tess notices Joel’s attraction to reader and gets jealous. Maybe reader & Tess get into a fight or Joel & Tess but either way it ends with reader underneath Joel😩Bonus points for age gap/innocence and dom!Joel

Heyyyy! Thank you so much for this ask, and I’m so sorry for the delay! Things have been crazy lately, I’m trying to get back into writing little by little :) Because this was getting a little long, I decided to turn it into two parts ♡ enjoy!

Useless Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

Summary: You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue. You still didn’t know why they kept you around.

You weren’t supposed to be alive. Death had tried to come for you a long time ago, but unfortunately his plans were thwarted by a man named Joel Miller.

You don’t really ever remember having a home before now—or, not a traditional one, at least. The group you had previously been a part of was nomadic so you’d always been moving around and never stayed in the same place for more than a few weeks. You guys hadn’t had a specific destination in mind, you’d just sort of…wandered. It was pointless, and definitely stupid, but moving felt better than doing nothing. Part of you had still longed for some sort of stability, for some sort of permanence. At night you dreamt of a world where you’d have a garden with strawberries and carrots and a peach tree. Your house would have a wraparound porch. You’d paint your window shutters blue.

But that wasn’t possible in the world you lived in, so you always pushed those thoughts away and kept going.

Until that day.

Your group of wanderers had been staying in the abandoned city for about a week when the raiders came. It had been a quick job in the middle of the night—they’d killed half of your numbers before you’d even been fully awake. When lucidity had breached the wall of sleep in your mind, you grabbed your backpack and ran like a coward.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been shot until you’d gotten far enough away where you felt like you could breathe again and the adrenaline wore off. The bullet had lodged itself in your upper arm and within days it was a sweltering mess of infection. You’d taken refuge at the top of an old hotel and waited to die.

You didn’t really remember what had happened next, which was probably because of the delirium brought on by the fever. All you knew was that one day you were slouched against the peeling wallpaper, half-conscious, when you heard the voices. They’d been hushed, urgent, whispering back and forth to one another, and a short time later you were being lifted. Your head lolled against the man’s solid chest and you were out.

You’d woken up in Joel’s apartment a few days later, bullet wound cleaned and stitched up.

That had been two years ago.

“No.”

“Awe, please?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But I can help!”

“By doing what? Batting your lashes at any Clickers we come across?”

You huffed as you stared at Tess across the counter of your guys’ tiny kitchen. “I know how to use a gun.”

“Not while aiming at a moving target, you don’t.” Tess’ face was stonelike, lined with crevices around her eyes like carvings in marble. “You’re not coming. This supply run is a two-person job.”

“But—”

A deep voice from the corner of the room muttered your name. You turned to meet Joel’s gaze—he was sitting at the small wooden dining table staring at his hands, all callused from the hard labor required to survive in this new world. He looked up and the message in his eyes was clear: Leave it alone.

You looked down obediently and didn’t further the now-finished argument. You weren’t sure it had even really started.

When Joel and Tess allowed you to stay with them, you’d been surprised. You had expected for them to hand you over to FEDRA or kick you out after you were healed, or something of the sort. You didn’t expect for them to keep you around.

You still didn’t know why they did. You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue.

That was another thing. Joel. That first week you’d been awake and recovering you had sort of had a permanent starry-eyed look to you and chastised yourself each time you got nervous around him, which was always. You’d only speak when spoken to, and when you did it was in a soft voice that didn’t match your roughed-up appearance. You’d thought that it would go away, that the only reason you were like this was because he’d been the one who had saved you. You’d thought the silly crush would have worn off eventually.

Oh how very wrong you were.

You were better about it now—you’d gotten more used to things. You didn’t talk quite so quiet anymore. You didn’t jump a little everytime he entered the room.

But your feelings lingered. There was still something that changed in you when you were around Joel. You couldn’t help but want to do what he said even if you disagreed with him sometimes. You weren’t sure why. Something about him appealed to a smaller, more primal part of your brain, filling you with need. You couldn’t count the number of times you had been in bed late at night with your knuckle in your mouth as you pleasured yourself thinking about him.

It wasn’t just a physical need, though. Sure, he was handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair, his thick biceps, his strong jaw. You remembered how he’d carried you out of the city in his unyielding arms with you resting against his solid torso. He’d lifted you so easily. A part of you ached to be held again, to be cared for.

You tried not to think about things like that. You knew he saw you as nothing more than a stupid, naive little girl.

“Glad we got that settled. Again,” Tess was saying, voice dripping with annoyance. She slid her gun into the waistband of her pants and looked at Joel. “Ready?”

He nodded and stood, then looked at you. “We’ll be back in about two days. Cover for us. Stay out of trouble. Don’t sign up for any labor jobs while we’re gone—”

“—and don’t be stupid,” you finished, knowing Joel’s little spiel by heart now. “I know.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered. “And make sure you eat while we’re gone.”

“Yes sir.”

You’d meant it as a joke—maybe even a bitter one—but then something flickered in Joel’s eyes and he stood there for a moment before nodding and heading out the door. Tess gave you a sideways glance before following. She shut the door behind her.

And then you were alone.

Your time in solitude wasn’t much different from you you lived when Tess and Joel were there. You organized your meager pantry. You took inventory of your supplies so you know what Joel and Tess took and so you could log whatever they brought back. You cleaned the gun Joel hadn’t taken.

The only thing you didn’t do was sign up for any of the jobs FEDRA had listed for people to uptake to earn ration cards. Joel didn’t like you doing things like that when he wasn’t around. Besides, he was always the one who picked for you, who said what you couldn’t and couldn’t do—he mostly had you write your name down for the more boring jobs like helping with the QZ’s main food supply inventory or distribution. You couldn’t remember Joel ever signing you up for any hard labor jobs.

Usually you might have been insulted that your role was essentially a glorified maid, but Joel had claimed your part was necessary. That was enough for you.

Currently you were attempting to slice a half-frozen loaf of bread you’d gotten from today’s ration pickup. FEDRA always froze rations when they could so that the food didn’t go bad as quickly, but usually by the time you were ready to use them they’d already been sitting in the pantry for a few days so they could defrost. However, you were completely out of bread now and you wanted a sandwich for dinner tonight, so you thought you’d try and slice off a couple pieces so they’d unfreeze quicker.

You wondered if you should slice off more so that dinner could be ready for Joel when he got back. And Tess, you quickly added in your mind. You weren’t sure exactly when they were going to return, but maybe it would be nice to have the bread thawed at least a little more by the time—

The knife slipped.

You dropped it with a yelp and it clattered to the floor right as ruby red blood started to bead on your skin where the blade had cut into you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you thought as tears pricked your eyes from the sting of it. You put pressure on it with a spare cloth and ran for the first aid cabinet, but hesitated when you saw the hydrogen peroxide.

You really did not want to deal with the extra pain that would bring right now, so you decided to just clean the cut with water and bandage it. It wasn’t deep enough you’d need stitches, but the knife had gotten you pretty good still.

A sigh escaped your lips. Tess was right. If you couldn’t even cut bread without hurting yourself, how were you ever supposed to be competent enough to use a gun against a Clicker correctly?

“—s half your age, Joel!”

You blinked your eyes open, brow creased in disorientation. Was that Tess’ voice? You yawned and looked out the window of your room to see that it was still dark outside, though the sky was beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn.

“—s not like that.”

Joel’s voice had you wake up a little bit more. You removed the blanket from where it had been twisted around your legs and sat up in bed, now lucid enough to determine that Joel and Tess were out in the living room. When had they gotten back?

“Then tell me what it’s like.” Tess’ voice was like a blade to a whetstone.

Silence.

A scoff, then Tess continued. “Seriously? You’re not even going to try to defend yourself?”

“Can’t defend myself if I’ve done nothing wrong.” Joel’s words were muttered but intense. You could almost picture the muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Fine.” The single word was sharp. “I can’t deal with this anymore, Joel. Come find me when you’re ready to act like an adult.”

The sound of the front door opening and then slamming echoed even in the back room you were in.

You sat there for a few moments but didn’t hear any movement from Joel—not even a sigh or anything—so you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and crossed to peek out into the living room.

Joel was sitting on the couch, legs spread and arms folded as he stared off into space ahead of him, his jaw working ever so slightly. His backpack was on the floor near the couch, though Tess’ wasn’t. She must have taken it with her to…wherever she’d gone.

Your courage waned and you almost turned to head back into the room, but Joel’s head moved and his eyes fell on you, something changing in his expression.

“Hey,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “Didn’t think you’d be awake already.”

Caught, you stepped into the room fully and gave a shrug. “I’m a light sleeper.” But then, who wasn’t these days?

Your words caused an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both as you realized what it meant. He knew that you’d heard him and Tess, and you knew he knew.

“Where did Tess go?” Your voice was unsure.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she coming back?”

Joel sighed. “I don’t know. I…” He trailed off as his eyes caught on something near your hip. “What’s that?”

“What’s…?” You followed his gaze to the white bandage on your hand and you quickly hid it behind your back. “Oh it’s nothing, I was just being stupid—“

He stood. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I just…“ You left your sentence unfinished as he walked over to you and lifted your hand delicately in his large one, examining the bandage.

“You’re bleeding.”

You looked down to see a red spot seeping through. “Huh,” you said stupidly.

“Come on.” Without asking he gently took your wrist to pull you along to the kitchen. The tile was cold on your bare feet.

“Hop up on the counter.”

You frowned in confusion. “What are you—”

Joel’s hands landed on your ribcage and then he was lifting you up and back to sit you on the laminate. A gasp of surprise left your lips; that seemed to reach something inside Joel and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning to open a cabinet near your head and extract the white box with a red cross on it.

“S’fine,” you whispered. You watched as he flipped the lid open and rummaged around.

“You clean it?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you. “With?”

“With water,” you mumbled. “Really, it’s fine. It’s not that—”

Your heart fell as he pulled the brown square bottle out and set it on the counter along with some more bandages. You were about to move to begin tending to your cut, but to your surprise Joel beat you to it. He lifted your wrist and started to peel back the bandage.

He was standing between your slightly-open legs, close enough so that he could work at a good angle. He was close enough where the scent of him invaded your senses and made you dizzy. This was probably the closest you’d ever been to him….ever.

Apart from when he’d carried you, of course, but you’d been half-unconscious at that point so you didn’t count it much.

“‘S gonna sting a bit,” he muttered. The cold press of the hydrogen peroxide-soaked cloth made you gasp. It bubbled and fizzed and bit into your skin, burrowing deep down into the cut.

You tried to blink your tears away discreetly, but one fell and streaked down your cheek. To your surprise, Joel didn’t say anything. All he did was hand a cloth to you without looking up from his work.

You let out a small surprised chuckle. “Thanks. Sorry.” You took the cloth with your free hand and dabbed at your eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” was all Joel said.

Despite what he said, you went on, voice slightly bitter. “Doubt Tess would appreciate seeing me cry over—”

“Don’t listen to what Tess says.” The tone in Joel’s voice signaled that the topic was dropped. He finished bandaging you, then stepped back and turned, headed for his room. “I’m gonna get some rest.”

And there he left you, sitting on the countertop with a newly-mended cut, utterly perplexed.

——

Stay tuned for Part 2!

#bambi babbles #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #bambi writes #the last of us

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warfaredoll · 3 days ago

Text

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

[𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞] 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Erik coming home to his sweet wife who can’t help but become a emotional mess

thank u anon for requesting this ‹𝟹, pure fluff, wc 1k, will poulter is husband material

you turned toward the door, the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway. the knock was soft barely there as you looked through the small peep hole of the door

“Who is it?” you called out with a small smile on your lips

there was silence from the other side of the door and then his voice, deeper, rougher than you remembered but it was him

“your husband.” he replied

you didn’t even give yourself time to process it, your hand flew to the knob, twisted, and there he was

Erik stood there in his uniform, bag slung over one shoulder, sun catching the edges of his short buzzed blonde hair, he looked exhausted and handsome all at once

you didn’t let him say a word

you came up to him wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his chest with a shaky sigh of relief. his arms still hovering in the air for a second then slowly, they came down wrapping around your waist

one of his hands slid up to stroke your hair gently, fingers threading through it. “Hey” he murmured, voice soft against your temple

he just stood there with you in his arms, the door swung shut behind him with a quiet thump as he guided it closed with his foot, never loosening his hold around you

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, your arms still looped loosely around his neck. his eyes tenderly looked over you

“God” he breathes,“you look beautiful. even more than I remembered”

his fingers graze the thin strap of your dress, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips a little teasing. “you wore this one for me, didn’t you?”

you can only nod, “I know you like it” you whisper

“I love it” he says, “looks even better now that I’m here to see it on you.”

his hands come up to cup your face gently, thumbs brushing across your cheeks and his gaze softens even more

“I missed you so much. I thought about you every single day.”

your lower lip trembles as you look up at him, a pout starting to form. you bite it back, but the thoughts creep in anyway the thoughts of him in danger, in pain, alone.

he notices immediately. his brow furrows and he leans in a little closer, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “Hey.” he murmurs. “don’t think about it right now. I’m here. I’m okay.”

“I just…” your voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about what you went through. what you probably saw.”

he presses his forehead gently to yours, closing his eyes.

“There were hard days. real hard. but you.. you were the only thing that got me through. every time it got bad, I just pictured your face. your laugh. you in this dress.” he chuckles softly, pulling back just enough to look at you again. “you don’t have to understand what I went through, just stay here. be here. that’s all I need.”

you let out a shaky breath as your hands find the front of his jacket, gripping the fabric tightly

but your pout deepens until it breaks completely. the emotions of it all comes over you hard and suddenly you’re crying, messy, breathless, with your face buried in your hands as if you could hide from it all. you hate crying like this, but it’s like every fear, every nightmare, every sleepless night just poured out all at once now that he’s finally, finally home.

“I’m sorry” you manage to hiccup through the tears, voice muffled and shaky. “I just-”

“Shhh, hey” Erik whispers, stepping closer trying to wrap you up in his arms again. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

his hands rub gentle circles along your back, trying to soothe you, to ease the ache he knows he caused by being gone even if it wasn’t his fault. he presses kisses into your hair murmuring, “I’ve got you. you’re okay now. we’re okay.”

the the tears won’t stop. your face is hot, your nose is running, and you’re pretty sure you’re getting snot all over the front of his uniform but he doesn’t care. he just holds you tighter

then he leans back a little, cupping your face in his warm hands, thumbs brushing at your tear streaked cheeks, his brow furrowed with worry. “Come here” he says softly, he bends slightly and picks you up into his arms

you softly gasp through your tears, your arms instinctively going around his neck, and your sobs continue but now your face is tucked against the warm crook of his neck. everything muffled

“I’ve got you” he whispers again, “let it all out.”

and you do

you cry into his neck, your fingers curling into his jacket, letting go of every terrifying thought you’ve held in for months. and he just holds you, walking you slowly into the living room murmuring sweet things into your ear

Erik lowers himself onto the couch, holding you close in his lap, one hand still cupping the back of your head the other wrapped tightly around your waist

you’re still crying quiet now but no less. your face is buried in the crook of his neck, warm tears soaking into his skin, and your fingers cling to the collar of his uniform like you’ll never let go

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t tell you to stop or try to pull you out of what your feeling. instead, he leans his cheek against your temple and rocks you ever so gently, like you’re something precious

“Breathe baby” he whispers, lips brushing your hair. “I’m here. I’m really here. It’s over.”

your breath stutters, catching on another sob, and he hugs you tighter

“All that waiting, all those nights alone you don’t have to do that anymore” he says softly. “You don’t have to be afraid, you don’t have to fall asleep wondering if I’m okay.”

your fingers loosen just a little as his words sink in. your sobs are quieter now, more like soft hiccups and you shift slightly in his lap to look up at him through wet lashes

“I was so scared” you whisper, voice cracking. “every single day. I just kept thinking what if I lost you”

his face crumples a little, and he leans in to kiss the tears right off your cheeks.

“You did stay strong” he murmurs. “even when it was hard. even when I couldn’t be here. I know it wasn’t fair. I hate that you had to carry all of that all alone.”

he brushes his thumb across your cheek again, swiping at another tear.

“but i’m home now. I’m safe. and I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere. not for a long, long time.”

you nod slowly, another shaky breath leaving your chest as you rest your head against his shoulder. his fingers rub circles into your back, slow and soothing and you feel your body finally begin to relax in his arms

you’re still curled in his lap, legs draped over his

“You’re everything to me” he says quietly, his lips near your ear. “and I’m gonna spend every day reminding you of that.”

Erik shifts just enough to see your face again, his gaze full of nothing but tenderness. his thumb brushes under your eyes, wiping away the last of your tears. then with a small crooked smile he leans in and gently dabs at your nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

“You’re a beautiful snotty mess” he says with a soft laugh, voice warm and teasing but so full of love

you sniffle laughing softly against him “I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” he whispers, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You could cry all over me every day for the rest of our lives and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

he reaches down then, cradling your hand in both of his. slowly he brings it up to his lips pressing a kiss to the ring he put there, a promise you both held onto through the longest months of your lives

his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again

“I love you” he says simply

you lean forward, and he meets you halfway pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips so full of love

when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. and neither of you moves

you stay like that his arms around you, your hand still held in his

[draft ﾞ✿ ࠬܓ ]

@k-pevensie28 @tenseoyong @ddlydevotion @https-junebug @glassbxttless @samslvrgirl @vinecstasy @f4nfic-lover @meetmeatyourworst @spacec0wgirl777 @bib200 @violetcamryn @illyrianbrat @willowpains @witchywidow97 @illyrianbrat

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

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lassiie · 2 days ago

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HUNTED. mdni

PAIRING ↠ virgin stepbro Jake sim x afab Reader

When your parents remarried, you didn’t just gain new families — you gained Jake. Your quiet, wide-eyed stepbrother, always lingering, always watching. Two years younger, painfully sweet, and hopelessly obvious — the virgin he is. The way he looks at you? Like he’s starving. Like he’s been dreaming about you for years. And maybe… you don’t mind giving him something to dream about. After all, he’s going to be your sweet little revenge.

CONTENT ↠ nsfw! smut, sub Jake, obsession, possessiveness, did I mention sub behavior jake ???, rough sexual dynamics, dry humping, unprotected sex (don’t do it), oral (R receiving), family issues, stepcon, fluff, sex obsessed jake, worshiping on reader, panty stealing, mention of slight non-con (reader does want it but keep it a secret), voyeurism, strong depiction of fantasy (he’s a yapper on what he’s gonna do but also a man of his word lol).

Before you dive, read the warnings. don’t like it, don’t read.

WORDCOUNT ↠ 10k

You weren’t supposed to make it this hard — not for your parents.

You used to be the quiet one. Obedient. Graded by how well you behaved, how little you needed. You never raised your voice, never messed up. You didn’t even know how to say “no.” Just endless praise for how perfect you were.

You played the role, learned the script. But they never really knew you. Not your father, who loved an idea of you more than the reality. Not your mother, who only ever showed up to parade you like proof of her own success.

And maybe it was better that way. They didn’t know each other either — not really. So when they both confessed, almost proudly, that they’d been cheating the whole time… you weren’t even shocked. They tore the marriage apart like it was nothing. The only surprising part? How quickly it ended.

No screaming. No court battles. Just signatures, silence — and no one asking where you wanted to go.

That’s what hurt the most. Not the divorce. But how easily they let you go. Like you were a suitcase passed between homes.

You stopped being angry somewhere along the way. The rage dulled into numbness, then into strategy. You’d get through it. Play along. Smile on command until you have your own life.

And in the meantime? You became the perfect daughter all over again. Especially at your father’s place — the house closest to your university, the one you used as your main base. Easy enough, since he was never there. His new wife wasn’t either. They were just ghosts with paychecks.

So you had the space. The silence.

And… Jake.

He was the only real presence in that house. Your new stepbrother. Two years younger. Too polite. Too handsome. Always there. Always watching.

Straight-A student, quiet, almost religious in the way he carried himself — like everything he did had to be pure, soft, perfect. He reminded you too much of who you used to be. But Jake wasn’t hiding from himself. No, he actually wore it the “good-boy act”. Almost praise-seeking. Like he needed it. Like he craved someone to reward him for behaving.

At first, you didn’t mind. He was sweet, helpful, easy to talk to, he actually made you forget your loneliness at some point. He was a lonely kid too, trying to impress his new older sister — so eager to be liked, it was almost charming.

Almost.

Because there was something else beneath that polished politeness. Something naive that begged to be broken. Jake was the kind of guy who probably kissed a few girls here and there, but never, never had a woman close enough to whisper filthy little things into his ear. He looked like he never touched a woman before to be honest. And it turned you on. The idea made you so wet at times when you selfcared yourself to the thought of him begging to taste you, to touch you, to fuck you clumsy and shy until you’ll teach him.

Was it revenge ? Or just that Jake made your brain chemistry weird ? You didn’t know. Maybe… maybe it was just Jake. Maybe he made your brain short-circuit. Because after your 21st birthday — and his 19th — something shifted. You started playing foolish games.

At first, it was innocent. Almost.

Just tight pajamas clinging to your curves while you stretched lazily across the couch. Too short shorts and tiny crop tops on the balcony while arching your back when he passed by when you exercised. Shirts with just one button too few left closed, your skin warm and glowing under the fabric while napping.

And the showers… oh, the showers. You’d always let him go after you — he insisted, of course, the gentlemen he is. But somehow, you kept “forgetting” your underwear and attire in the bathroom. Such a forgetful dumb dumb girl. And somehow, they always came back — folded neatly, quietly placed beside your bedroom door on the shelf. Like a little offering, a quiet plea. And when they started not coming back you knew, why… And that was your confirmation.

You started to notice the way he lingered when you helped him with his classes. Always a little too close. Breathing a little too shallow.

Eyes flicking to your thighs, boobs, your mouth — quickly, then guiltily when you almost caught him slacking.

You’d wear your softest perfume on purpose. Sweet, honeyed, monoi impossible to ignore in close spaces.

And Jake? He tried so hard not to breathe you in.

But you saw him. You saw the way his throat worked, the way that sinful Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed you down like a craving. His fingers clenched against his thigh, desperate to be somewhere else every time your shoulders collide. The way his pretty eyes pleaded with you, full of guilt and need.

And that bulge. Oh dear, it looked so fat. Pressing against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, twitching like it had a mind of its own. He was trying so hard to be good. To be polite. And that’s exactly what made you want to break him.

Jake made you curious — hungry. How much would it take? How far could you push until that last fragile piece of restraint snapped inside him?

It became a game for years. A delicious one. You played it filthier with each passing month, even when it felt like you were the one balancing on the edge of his palm.

You made sure he knew you weren’t some innocent girl. When he got home late, you started leaving your bedroom door cracked open just enough for the sound to leak. Those high, broken little moans — fake at first, but later… not.

And then the mirror ? You angled it perfectly. So if he even looked toward your room while walking down the hall, he'd see you.

One night you were on your knees at the foot of the bed, legs spread. His oversized hoodie hanging loose over your hips — not to hide anything, just to tease. Your panties soaked and pushed to the side. Your fingers working fast, fucking yourself. Messy. Sloppy. Your water gushing everywhere.

You didn’t call his name, but you knew he’d hear it anyway. You almost heard him yelp on the other side of the wall — barely muffled, strained. Then moans.

And when your orgasm hit, your walls clenched so tight it hurt, you weren’t touching air anymore. You were clenching around the idea of him.

And you got bolder.

Another time, your curiosity won. It happened at times you'd find yourself lazily walking around the house, entering his room looking around his books and computer, playing his games. Then… You found a file on his laptop — half-hidden in the Bluetooth sharing folder.

A video.

The timestamp? Right down to the hour and day you remembered arching your back and crying into your pillow, a dildo vibrating where it felt the best. You clicked on it. The screen lit up with you. Your body. That same mirror. That same damn dildo. He’d recorded the whole thing.

Poor boy.

You didn’t delete it.

You let him keep it.

Because the thought of him doing unspeakable things to that video every night?

It made you wetter than anything.

It really went too far the night you decided to test him. To really test him.

You weren’t even into the guy you invited over that day. This peer from uni was not your type. Too talkative, too flirty, too easy. But he served a purpose. You needed a body. A voice. A laugh. Something for Jake to see until it was two in the morning. And he made sure to always have an eye on you guys, even if he had class that day. You stopped counting the number of time he got out of his room for water and snacks, texted you “you ok ?”, “need something ?”, heard his door opening just to listen to your flirting session.

He saw how you sat close to your guest. Laughed a little too hard. Let your fingers linger when you handed him his glass. Tilted your head when he made a joke. Let him have his hand on your inner thigh. Heard the sound of loud kissing.

And when you walked him to the door, your body angled toward him just enough for Jake to imagine something — anything, you almost burst laughing.

“Text me when you're free” you said, soft but clear, just loud enough.

“Ok princess.” your unwanted guest smiled.

You didn’t even close the door right away. You let it hang open while you adjusted your shirt, as if you’d just been touched.

You felt Jake watching from the stairs.

And the next morning? He didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at you. Jaw locked. Shoulders stiff. He practically radiated that stormy silence. And you drank it in. You were already wet before the day ended. playing with the friction of your tights at the new idea of an angry Jake, bending you over some desk and fucking you dumb.

That night, he knocked. Not loud, neither confident. Just a soft, almost guilty tap — like he hated himself for even standing there.

“Movie ?” His voice almost cracked, thin and so hesitant. Like he regretted the word the second it left his mouth. You didn’t look up right away — your eyes glued to your notes — but when you did, you offered him a small smile. Soft. Painless.

“Sure.”

And you dressed the part.

Cotton shorts with cute patterns— soft and clingy, short enough they might as well be sin. No bra. Just his hoodie. Oversized, too familiar, the neck too wide, sliding off your shoulder like it belonged there. Like you belonged in his clothes.

You curled beside him on the couch, the way temptation curls around the spine — warm and impossible to ignore. Your thigh brushed his. Close enough for your breath to touch his skin. Close ²enough to burn.

The movie flickered on, but neither of you really watched it, you could bet on it. He was too busy pretending not to want you. not to look at you from the corner of his eyes. And you… you were too busy pretending not to know.

Every time you moved, it was calculated. Subtle.

The lazy stretch of your limbs. The soft roll of your hips when you shift to get "comfortable." The way your hoodie rose and fell, teasing bits of skin like secrets he wasn’t allowed to touch.

And Jake… poor Jake… He was unraveling. Silently. Inch by inch.

You could feel it — the tension in his body each time your skin brushed his. The way his breath caught when your nipple grazed his arm beneath the fabric.

His composure was a dam with cracks spider webbing through it. And you were the water, pressing harder every second.

Then, your voice — low and sugar-sweet — slid into the space between you two like a knife.

“Jake… You don’t want me to bring boys over, huh?” You tilted your head, blinking up at him with faux innocence. “You looked pretty mad…”

His jaw tensed. His shoulders twitched. He looked at you like you’d lit a match and tossed it onto his bed.

“I just…” He swallowed. “I don’t think it’s smart. Some guys… Just want…”

“Want?” you echoed, soft as silk, a dangerous little smirk tugging at your lips. “…To do me?”

The way you said it made him flinch — like the words physically hit him.

You laughed, sweet and syrupy, pretending not to notice how he clenched his fists.

“I wish…” you murmured. “But I don’t think I’m the kind of girl guys want to really fuck, you know?”

You were sure he’d shatter. Right there. He turned to you, and for a second, he looked like something fragile cracking. His eyes searched your face — pained ? reverent ? Almost angry at you for not seeing what you meant to him.

His hand came up, hesitant at first, and gently patted your head, adjusting your hair, like he didn’t know what else to do with the burning inside him.

“That’s not true,” he said, voice hoarse. “You��re… you’re gorgeous.”

You didn’t laugh this time. Because suddenly… something about the way he said it felt real. Too real.

And it settled into your stomach like a fire and confusion.

So you stood — a little too fast — pretending it was nothing.

You stretched, arms overhead, the hoodie lifting just enough to reveal the sweet curve where your shorts clung between your thighs. You felt his gaze like heat — devouring. Silently begging.

“Want some popcorn?” Your voice was casual, light. But the silence that followed was not.

You turned to glance back — and there he was, still seated, still staring. His lips parted, breath uneven. His knuckles pale from how tightly he gripped the couch cushion. His eyes were glassy with something halfway between hunger and heartbreak.

He wanted you. So badly it hurted him. And you…

You didn’t know what you wanted. But it was starting to feel like it might be him.

He blinked, like you’d just woken him from a dream. Swallowed. Then nodded — barely.

“…Yeah. Sure…” Jake’s voice was thin and shaky.

🕛

When you returned, he was sitting on the carpet closer to the screen —but he looked… Rigid. You slid beside him again, close. Pressed in. The look in his eyes disappointed like he expected you to go back to the couch and abandon him on the big fluffy rug.

And at some point, you must’ve fallen asleep. Or pretended to. You weren’t sure when his arm slipped around you too, but it happened somehow.

You only knew you woke up spooned tight against his chest, the glow of the TV flickering counting down on the last two minutes before shutting down. The air was cool, but his body behind you was so hot.

His breath brushed your neck. And then —you felt it.

Hard. Thick. Pressed flush to the curve of your ass. You froze. Not in fear. In calculation.

The slow grind of his cock against your back was not an accident. Or was he asleep too ?

No. This wasn’t a sleep twitch… This was rhythm. Friction.

You stayed still. Barely breathing. He was holding you like he needed to be inside you just to keep breathing. His arm clutched your waist like he thought you might vanish.

And that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that you could hear the noise he made.

A low, strangled groan.

Your name — whispered so faintly, so pathetically — like he was praying.

You bit your lip, hard. Your panties clung to you, soaked from how hot your core had gone. You could feel your own pulse between your legs, fast and desperate. And when you shifted your hips ever so slightly and faintly— to relieve the wetness, nothing more — his mid asleep mind took it as permission.

His hips ground forward. Almost hard. Controlled.

The way his cock dragged between your asscheeks through the fabric had your eyes rolling shut. It was clumsy, hungry, dry humping like he didn’t care what dignity he had left.

The arm pillow under your head shifted, to press against your throat. to cage you. Not choking. Not violent. Just there. To keep you. To claim you.

His body was all over you now.

The humping turned to rutting — fast, erratic. and his grip started to strangle you slightly. He was panting into your hair to your ear almost licking like an animal, his breath sticky and messy, hips chasing release like it hurt to hold it back.

You couldn’t help it, you moaned. Quiet. Barely there. But enough.

And he froze. Just for a second.

But you didn’t move. Didn’t open your eyes. You let him think you were still asleep. And just like that—

He started again.

Rougher now. Curious, or gone crazy. Because he lifted your thigh over his leg like he wanted you open, more accessible, more his.

his hand ended up cupping your pussy and you almost wine at him fiding you’re wet as fuck. “Holly sh…” he whisper.

He ground into your ass like he was fucking you through his short, like he was losing his mind just from the feeling of your body under him. His mouth brushed your neck, and you heard your name again.

Muttered. Broken. Like a secret. Like a prayer. Like a sin.

And still, you didn’t stop him. You let him use you. Let him melt against you. Let him rut like a dog in heat.

Because you knew what came next. He was already ruined. And this was just the beginning.

🕜

You don’t open your eyes until the room is quiet. Until his breathing slows.

Until the soft pad of his footsteps retreats across the carpet, shaky and shameful.

He leaves you there — half-dressed, flushed, wrecked — with a blanket tucked around your body like penance. As if warmth could erase what he did. As if the trembling in your thighs wasn’t already permanent. As if you didn’t feel every hot, ragged grind of his cock rutting through his shorts like he was trying to breed you in his sleep.

And the kiss. God, that stupid trembling kiss. Soft. Barely there.

Pressed to your forehead like an apology. Like he knew he crossed a line but couldn’t help himself. And the whisper, hoarse and frantic:

“’m sorry… ‘m sorry… I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just—fuck, I’m sorry.”

As if that made him better than what he really was. As if that erased how soaked your panties were from the way he used you. You wait. Wait for the creak of the stairs. Wait for the soft click of his door.

And then — you move.

Your body curls in on itself like it’s starving. You’re fucking shaking. Your hand dives straight between your thighs, fingers pressing through the soaked cotton, trembling.

It’s so, so, so wet. Disgustingly wet. The fabric sticks to your folds like glue, like your cunt wanted to keep his shape. You bite down on the throw pillow, knuckles white, grinding against your hand like it might make you feel whole again. But it won’t. Not really.

Because he touched you. Because he left you. Because he thinks you slept through the way he rutted against you like a feral fucking animal, like you didn’t feel every ragged thrust of his hips desperate to paint you with cum, guilt and heat.

He thinks you didn’t know. Didn’t felt it. Didn’t want it.

But you did. You let it happen. You fucking invited it.

And now?

He’s upstairs, hiding upstairs like he didn’t just violate every boundary between you, fucking his mattress to the memory of you, into the same fucking shorts he creamed earlier.

Because he can’t help it. Because you’re in his blood now.

You giggle. It’s breathy, drunk, delirious — because it’s true.

He’s the one ruined. He’s the one haunted.

He came so hard trying not to wake you — and now he can’t stop imagining it.

And you… What about you ?

You climb the stairs slowly. Steady. Dripping.

You were headed to your own room. You really were. But then you hear it. The soft creak of his mattress.

That familiar, low grunt — choked and desperate, barely audible but so damn needy.

You pause. Bare feet planted on the hallway carpet. Heart pounding. Your body buzzes, strung tight as wire. You move closer. Silent. Curious.

Then you hear it. Really hear it.

The unmistakable slap of skin on skin. The low wet rhythm of his hand fisting his cock in the dark, probably red and raw from how many times he’s edged himself on your name.

And underneath? That tiny, cursed sound.

That video.

The one he shouldn’t have. The one you let him keep.

The one of you — legs spread, mouth open, giggling as you played with yourself just for him that one night, not knowing he hit record.

You never mentioned it. You never stopped him. Because deep down, you wanted him to keep it.

To ruin himself with it. Over and over and over.

But you’re just as pathetic. Your fingers are between your legs again before you even register it. The cotton is useless now. Sopping. You slide past it like it’s not even there, middle finger sinking into heat, other hand flat on his door as you grind your hips into your palm.

Then you hear it — your name. Again. Again. And again. He is obsessed for sure. He sob. Choked out like a fucking prayer as the mattress groans under him.

“Fuck, I need you—I need to be inside that fucking—fuck, please—let me fill you, let me breed you, I’ll give you everything, just—please— please—”

You moan against his door, the sound of it mixing with the video, forehead pressed to the wood, thighs clenched around your own wrist. Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers, and you feel it start to build — fast, brutal, like you’ve been edging since he left you in the living room.

And still he goes on — pathetic little noises, bed frame creaking, the wet slap of his fist around his wet cock echoing through the door.

On the other side of the door. His face is flushed. His glasses crooked and hair plastered to his forehead. Jaw tight. Shirt rolled-up in his mouth, abs twitching. The thick head of his cock leaking down his wrist as he fucks into his hand like it’s you — his other hand still wet from where he cupped you, fingers slick with your essence, and the way he brings it to his mouth — then tasting you, like he can’t get enough, savoring the remnants of you on his skin. The same shorts he ruined earlier — still damp, pushed down just enough for him to get his dick out.

He’s fucking filthy. He’s yours. Your filthy Jake.

Your orgasm hits — sharp, dirty, brutal.

You clamp your mouth shut, panting silent against the doorframe as your whole body trembles, bending on your tiptoes, fingers twitching deep inside, cunt pulsing so hard it aches.

And still — he doesn’t know.

You sink to your knees, ruined, wet, wrecked, gasping against the wood. Just in time to hear him fall apart. The gasp. The cry. The broken sob of your name as he cums for the second time tonight. And you can hear it. The wet slap of it coating his hand, the hiss through his teeth as he tries not to scream.

You smile.

The next week felt like punishment. On the very next day you wake up to your dad and wife coming back home. Your dad pesters you for not going to your mom’s like they planned.

He keeps treating you like a kid even if you’re now 22. You hear him talk like you’re 5. You get along with him and leave the same day with him to join your mom’s family for their trip. where nothing felt like yours, with two loud and intrusive big brothers : Jay and Heeseung, not even a third as kind as Jake. You spent most days fantasizing about getting back to your father’s house. The silence. The chill in the air. The presence of that needy Jake.

You booked an earlier flight back the moment you realized the date: his birthday !

You knew he’d be at Sunghoon’s place — the infamous party, the rowdy crowd, his loud-ass friends. You thought about showing up, joining the cheers, maybe giving him a gift. But instead, you went home first.

You wanted to look good. No — you wanted to look like a tentation. And when you showed up, fashionably late, hair curled into a sharp ponytail, lips glazed, your little black dress hugging you like it knew every secret Jake ever fantasized about — you found him.

On the stairs. Outside his own party.

Drunk. Gloriously fucked up. Head in his hands, murmuring to himself like the air had answers. When he looked up and saw you, his eyes locked like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you’d shown up for him. That you looked like that.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, standing on shaky legs and staggering toward you like you were gravity and he was finally done resisting. He hugged you, his arms slipping around your waist like they had every right. His mouth found your neck under the guise of a greeting, inhaling you like perfume could get him high. His fingers slid a little too far down your bare back.

You stepped away, pulse thrumming.

“Jake… are you okay?”

He blinked, all glassy-eyed and helpless. “You came,” his voice was thick with liquor and longing. “Fuck, I missed you. I missed your smell. Missed you everywhere.”

You didn’t have time to answer before a car pulled up. Sunghoon stepped out, smiling politely, playing the good host. He explained the mess Jake had made — got too drunk waiting for you, tried to get home alone, and ended up just sitting out here like a sad hot mess. You thanked him, brushed off his offer for a ride, your cab was still waiting.

Sunghoon helped Jake into the back seat. And the second that door shut, chaos took root.

Jake slumped into you, lips grazing your collarbone, breath hot and sloppy. His hand found your thigh, fingers pressing in slow, lazy circles like your skin was his drug. You flinched when he crept too high, but he didn’t stop — not until you caught his wrist.

“You ok ? Jake ?”

He blabber incoherently, but you understand the most : he is so happy you made it, he’s so happy you’re here with him, he wished you didn’t get back to your mom, how lonely he was. How your scent started to not linger anywhere. His eyes are begging but not like any other day. You stop his hand halfway to your panty, again, while trying to keep composure. Lucky you, it was peach night, all the car's lights were down and you’re sitting behind the driver.

You now understand why Jake refuses to drink. It makes his real persona oblivious.

You feel his head tilt from your shoulder to your neck making you weak, extending his tongue trying to catch a limp of your taste while murmuring excuses and plea. Even drunk he knows how to turn you on.

By the time you got home, he was practically glued to your back. You had a cake box in one hand and one very needy Jake humping your ass like it was his emotional support animal. You shoved him onto the couch, frustrated and flustered, his name already a warning on your tongue.

“Jake,” you snapped. “You reek. Go shower.”

He groaned.

“Jake…”

He sat up finally—

And then, with zero hesitation — yanked you down onto him. His thigh pressed up between your legs. His hands gripped your hips like handles. His lips? All over you. Jaw. Ear. Neck. One kiss after another, slurred and sensual.

Then pulled you under him with no force left in your body to resist. But he’s such a kiddo right now you can help but not to take him too seriously.

The couch gave way as his weight pinned you, his thigh pressing exactly where it shouldn’t. His breath hot on your cheek, smell of liquor, his mouth leaving soft, open kisses down your jaw.

“I wished you’d wear… that purple lace,” he breathed, almost begging for it. “I came…” kiss “...so hard in those.” kiss “I- I Didn’t mean to. Wanted to give them back” kiss. “But… I kept sniffing them. And I— fuck, I’m so sorry.” kiss.

His tongue flicked your earlobe and your hips arched before you could stop.

“Hey kiddo—”

“I’ll buy you new ones.” kiss. “The exact same.” kiss. “I'll buy you ivory ones.” kiss. “Just let me see them on you.” kiss “Please. I’ll be good.” kiss “I’ll— I’ll clean up.”

You shoved him off you with more effort than expected and dragged him down the hall toward the bathroom, him still pawing at your hips, nuzzling your chest like a cat in heat.

The second the cold water hit him, he screamed like the devil himself got baptized.

You laughed — hard, doubling over.

You burst out laughing for a while. While his expression got lost in his wet hair, he was silent. soaked in his cloth, his sexy hand suddenly backing up his hair. And then you saw his dark expression—he grinned. He hit the button. The shower switched to rain mode — and your clothes were soaked in seconds. Water clung to your skin like hands. His chest pressed to yours in seconds.

The world stilled for a second when your eyes locked. He stares at your lips like they were scripture. Like one kiss could save him from damnation. And when he leans in—

You step back.

His lips hovered in the air, helpless, lost. Your smile was too sweet to reject him. Too knowing. you murmure against his ear under the loud sound of falling water.

“Get your shit together. Wash up. Then come eat your cake.”

Your fingers slid beneath your dress, His eyes dropped instantly. When your hand reappeared, you were holding your purple lace panties — the exact pair he stole. The ones he came in. The ones you let him keep.

His lips trembled.

But you said nothing else. He understood your message. You turned, wrung out your hair, And without a word, you walked away. Peeled your drees off, Leaving a trail of wet footprints and temptation so thick he couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t look back. Just unzipped the dress, let it fall. Bare ass, bare back. Nothing.

And you lived with a smile. Jake adored this. No, he worshipped you.

That’s why he stayed in that shower, panting, fists clenched, cock throbbing, brain screaming. Because backing off when you said no? That was pure respect. But watching you walk away like a siren wrapped in silk and defiance, and do nothing ?

That was torture.

The cold water didn’t sober him. You did. It vanished the second you pulled away from his kiss. That one step back — it slapped clarity into his brain harder than any ice bucket ever could. And as he watched you leave, he finally realized:

You gave him a show. You knew. You fucking knew. And the worst part ? You wanted him to know that you were aware of his behavior. As if you liked it.

You weren’t his sister. Not really “family”. You were his. And he was done pretending.

That's what he kept thinking while showering.

That he’d follow you to the edge of reason. Crawl through every of your rules to get to you. Fuck his reputation. Fuck his guilt. Fuck the whisper of wrong in the back of his skull.

He didn’t want to protect you anymore. Now he wanted to pin you down. He wanted to fuck you against the kitchen island until you cried. He wanted to ruin you.

And when he did?

You’d thank him. Because you’d been begging for it too, all along.

Once showered and dressed in warm, cozy clothes, Jake made his way down the stairs. But he stopped halfway. Froze.

You.

You were in the kitchen — bathed in the dim golden glow of the pendant lights — wearing that ivory tank top that barely clung to your chest, nipples brushing against the fabric, teasing shadows, and that long cotton skirt hugging your hips like it was made to be pulled up. You were slicing cake on the kitchen island, licking a thick ribbon of cream off your fingertip like you didn’t know he was watching. Or maybe you did. God, maybe you always did.

Jake watched you like he’d never seen a woman before.

Like he’d never seen you before, not like this.

Every flick of your wrist, every sway of your hips, the little twitch of your tongue tasting frosting—it was a fucking performance. For him.

And when he realized that, really realized it, it hit him like a goddamn wrecking ball.

He liked watching you.

No—he loved it.

Loved how brushing your teeth could turn him hard. How folding laundry made his mouth dry. How watching you apply lotion had once made him jerk off so violently he had to lie down after. It broke something in him. Snapped it in two and rewired it all wrong.

Hours of porn? Worthless. Cam girls? Useless.

You—doing absolutely nothing—had become his favorite fucking show. And he was the most devoted, depraved audience.

And those pajamas you’re wearing now ? He remembered them.

The first night you moved in. Your hair was shorter, your eyes wide, your smile unsure.

You wandered that big duplex like a lost lamb, bumping into corners, unsure of where to go. You’d smiled at him when you got turned around, laughing at yourself.

Jake had probably fallen for you right then. That simple, soft moment where you looked just as displaced and unclaimed as he always felt.

He told himself he’d be good to you from that day on. He recognized something in you. A mirror. Two kids shuffled from house to house, two pieces of pretty furniture passed down and placed where others decided.

But you were walking into his cage. Not the other way around. And God, he wanted to decorate it for you. Make it soft. Make it warm. Make you stay.

So Jake vowed—he'd make you feel safe, even if it meant pretending. Pretending to suck at school. Pretending he needed help picking out new sheets just to buy the softest, girliest ones for your bed. Pretending to be sick so you'd spend the day with him on the couch. Pretending he didn’t know how to cook, just to watch you make pancakes in your pajamas.

He wanted you from the first second. You healed him in ways.

And in others, you broke him wide open. Made him into a pervert. A voyeur. A stealer.

He knew the moment he started skipping outings, leaving parties early, racing home just to catch the scent of you in the hallway. That faint trace of perfume clung to everything you touched — the couch cushions, his hoodie, the sheets. You smelled like a fucking sin. And smiled like temptation wrapped in faux innocence.

He tried convincing himself you were just being polite tho. That you were older. Uninterested. That you saw him as this shy, harmless boy who needed help with coursework and still blushed too easily.

That you didn’t know what you were doing to him. But you actually did… Wow. Not everything sure, but still…

Did you know ? That in private, he did very real things. He’d pick up the panties you “forgot” with shaking hands every time. Always lacy. Most times he resisted. Actually, he didn’t. No, he pressed them to his face and breathed in your scent like it was oxygen. Fisted his cock so hard on them to the thought of you bending over his bed, he distorted them a bit.

And you never said a word. You just kept smiling. Kept laughing at his dumb jokes. Kept running your fingers through his hair while letting him lay his head in your lap, until his brain went quiet.

You called him “kiddo” in that soft, mocking tone that made him want to shove you down and make you choke on him until you forgot that word.

There wasn't a single place in this house he hadn’t imagined ruining you on. The sofa. The kitchen island. Wanted to fuck you breathless in the hallway without caring who walked in. Bent you over the balcony railing, your thighs trembling, your voice wrecked. Raw in your room. His cum leaking from your pussy like it belonged there in the bathroom.

He imagined gaming with you riding him, headset slipping off while he whispered filth. He pictured you sitting on his face, shocking him silent with how good you tasted.

Fuck, he wanted you now.

His body moved before his mind did. Down the stairs, across the room — straight to you. You turned to face him, and the look in his eyes must have said everything, because you froze.

But it was Jake. And Jake was your sweet boy.

He didn’t jump you, he dropped to his knees. Wrapped his arms around your waist like a lifeline and buried his face in your stomach.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you murmured, shivering at the feel of his lips.

He tilted his head up, puppy-eyed, and pressed soft, slow kisses to your belly, licking where your skin was bare.

He smiled at your reaction.

"...Making you feel good..." he mumbled, voice thick with want.

The shift in him — from predator to worshipper — scratched something deep in your brain. The submission in his voice sent heat racing down your spine.

You laughed, trying to stay grounded. "Get up. Let’s eat your cake. It’s still your birthday.”

But Jake didn’t move. He tightened his hold.

“What about my gift?”

You blinked at him, half amused, half breathless. The look on his face wasn’t as childish as his attitude —it was dark, intense, almost dangerous in how calm he was about wanting you.

"What do you want?" you asked, voice soft, laced with heat.

He didn’t answer.

He moved. Slid between your thighs. Pressed his face into the soft spot between them. Rubbed himself against your heat like an animal, breathing so heavy you could feel it through the layer of your skirt and panty. His grip hurted, but you loved it. Because he was unraveling.

He moaned your name into your thigh.

“Jake—” you gasped as his grip bruised into your skin, desperate, clumsy and intoxicating.

He was trembling. Hard. Leaking through his pants. You shoved him back gently, but not far. Just enough to meet his eyes.

"You have to tell me what you want for your birthday," you said, tone suddenly sultry, dominant.

Jake’s hands slid under your skirt, gliding up your calves, slow and reverent. He stopped just before your thighs, as if asking for permission with his touch.

“Please,” he moaned. “Please let me have you. I’ll do anything. Anything you want me to. I swear—”

God. You loved when he begged. So you lifted his flushed face with your knee.

“If I let you have me,” you whispered, “what are you gonna do to me?”

He whimpered your name like it hurt. One hand slid up to grab your panties and the hem of your skirt in one fist.

“I wanna eat you,” he said, kissing your thigh. “Wanna fuck you on this island until you scream, and beg.”

you hum.

“Wanna fucking lick that pussy until your legs give out.

Wanna watch you fall apart, over and over, on my cock until you forget how to walk.”

Wanna fill you so deep you feel me for days.

“I want this pussy. I want it to take my shape,” he said, voice wrecked. “And ache for my cock whenever I’m gone.”

His words burned.

You climbed onto the kitchen island, spreading your legs like you were displaying for him.

“Fuck, Jake, do it,” you exalted. “Happy twenty-one…”

He slid your skirt up so freaking fast, smirking. Kissed the inside of your thigh like it was his last meal. When his tongue finally touched your soaked lace, he groaned like he’d been starved.

“You taste like… fuck— there’s nothing like it,” he muttered, already pulling the lacy fabric in his mouth. His tongue felt thick and ungraceful, so messy, licking like he was trying to consume you, not please you.

He groaned against your folds, loud and vulgar, smiling like he’d found the secret to life in the taste of you.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re even sweeter than I imagined,” he breathed, dragging his tongue up your slit again, messy and deep, slurping you into his mouth like he couldn’t get enough.

And then, he ripped your panties.

Didn’t even slide them off — just grabbed the damp lace and tore it with a grunt, like it offended him to be kept away from what he wanted.

You gasped, jolting when his tongue returned to your clit with zero control, his lips and chin glistening, sloppy, aggressive — but hungry, so hungry it made your stomach twist.

“Hold still,” he muttered, though he was the one moving like a man possessed, hands fumbling on your hips, trying to anchor you and explore you at the same time.

He was learning your body with every stroke of his tongue, every misstep that made you twitch, every accidental graze of teeth that made you jolt and whimper. But the more you reacted, the crazier he got. Each sound you made made his cock throb in his sweats. He kept going, like he was chasing your high just to see what it would do to you.

“C’mon, let me—fuck—let me hear it,” he groaned, pressing his tongue flat against your clit, sucking harshly, noisily, spit mixing with slick, until you couldn’t help the moan that spilled from your lips.

Your back arched hard. Too hard. The pain bloomed in your spine but you didn’t care. Not when he was doing this — devouring you like you were his first and last, one hand splayed against your belly to keep you down as your thighs began to tremble.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered into you. “The way you move—like you’re gonna break. I’m gonna break you, yeah ?”

You whimpered, shaking more, lost — too far gone to process the feral glint in his eyes.

He was memorizing every twitch of your body. Every flutter of your lashes. Every ragged inhale. Your pleasure became his experiment — and he was failing, adjusting, trying again, obsessed with getting it just right, obsessed with watching you crumble.

“You feel everything, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his tongue down, then up again in a filthy line. “You’re so fucking sensitive. Look at how your hips move, how your legs shake—”

He pushed two fingers into you without warning, a little too rough, but your body swallowed him so eagerly that his jaw dropped.

“Oh god —fuck. You’re so tight, so warm—God, you’re—” he couldn’t finish.

Because you cried out. Because your head fell back. Because your mouth formed his name like a prayer and your thighs clenched around his head.

And it broke him.

His cock bounced, twitching uncontrollably in his pants, and he let out a pained moan, as if the sight of you like that — undone because of him — hurt more than it healed.

“Say it again,” he gasped, fingers now curling just right inside you. “Say my name like that.”

He was trembling. Worshipping. Grinding his hard length on air like a dog in heat, like he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth returned to your clit with vengeance, tongue swirling, sucking, licking—too rough, too clumsy, but desperate.

Your entire body was spasming now. Jolting. His nose bumped against your folds, fingers curling deep, knuckles wet, palm slick as he fucked you with his hand and his mouth at once.

It was too much. And he was watching. Eyes locked on you, wide and greedy, like he was filming the entire thing in his mind.

Then, in a shaky whisper, he asked:

“Can I really do anything to you?”

The words came soft, begging— but beneath them was a dark edge, a simmering madness just barely caged.

You didn’t hear it. Or maybe you were too far gone to understand it.

Because your mouth fell open, your mind blank, every nerve shredded and sparking as your orgasm built in a violent wave.

“Y-yeah, JAKE, JAKE, JAKE !!” you breathe out, barely coherent, nodding so frenetically it’s almost pitiful.

Jake doesn't wait.

Like a switch has flipped, he slips out from between your legs and props himself beside you on the kitchen island, his thigh brushing yours, one arm braced over your head against the cabinets. He stares down at your soaked center with eyes wide, dazed, reverent—and then he shoves his fingers into you. Hard. Deep.

You jolt so violently your back slams against the cupboards.

The squelch is immediate, obscene, echoing like wet slaps in the wide silence of the room—and so loud it drowns your breathless cries.

“Please—please say it again—say my name. I wanna see your eyes roll. Wanna see you fucking cry. Wanna ruin you so good you forget your own name.”

“Jake—!” you choke, your hands scrambling for purchase—his arm, his shirt, anything—before your fingers end up clawing at the collar of his tee, yanking him closer until your foreheads collide. He’s flushed, trembling, his mouth parted and panting as he watches the way your body thrashes against his hand.

And then he does it harder.

His palm starts slapping your clit on every drive, a sloppy wet percussion that sends you screaming through gritted teeth. He’s moaning with you now, completely enthralled, forehead against yours, sweat sticking between your skins. He’s watching every twitch of your mouth, every tear in your lashes, like you’re his goddamn religion.

“Y-yes, yes—fuck, don’t stop! Jake !” you beg, voice breaking as your hips roll helplessly against the rhythm.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in your ear. And your eyes plead for a kiss—anything to ground you—but Jake is gone. Lost in the ruin he's causing.

It’s only when you sob his name again, needy—“Jake—” a shattered sound— that he seems to come back to himself. He crashes his mouth into yours like a man who’s about to die without it. The kiss is messy, desperate, teeth clashing and tongues tangled, like he’s memorizing how you taste before he’s allowed to devour you again.

And you come.

So violently the island creaks under you. So fast it blinds you.

Your body convulses around his hand and he holds you through it like he’s proud of breaking you. Like he’ll never get enough of it.

He pulls back to look at the mess on his fingers, his lips parted in awe, and then—moaning—he licks them clean, slow and trembling, savoring you like something holy.

“I swear,” he rasps, “I could eat nothing else for the rest of my life.”

His cock is leaking now leaving a patch of wetness, pushing hard against his waistband like it’s about to burst. And his restraint ? Gone.

Jake scoops you up in his arms, bridal style, despite how unsteady he is—lips dragging kisses on your throat, cheek, temple as he carries you into his room.

The second you hit the mattress, he’s on you.

He undresses you in between wet kisses—pulling at your clothes like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting his whole life for. His hands are shaking. His teeth nip. He murmurs how pretty you are. How perfect. How soft.

Your panties? Gone.

“ That’s mine,” he whispered under his breath, fingers slipping through your folds again, already obsessed with how wet you still are. “Fuck…”

Then he undresses, cock springing out—thick and flushed and leaking so much it shines. Not too long, but wide. Thick enough that your thighs tense up on instinct. It twitches as he catches you staring.

“You okay?” he asks—but he’s already pushing your thighs apart, not waiting. Not anymore.

He lines up and slides in too fast—only halfway—and you cry out, back arching with a jolt.

“Too much?” he gasps—but his hips twitch forward another inch like he can’t stop himself. “You’re squeezing so tight—shit—it’s like your cunt doesn’t wanna let go—”

You’re trembling under him, moaning through your teeth, barely able to breathe around the stretch.

Jake looks like he’s losing it—jaw clenched, eyes glassy, watching every twitch of your mouth like he’s chasing the moment you break.

“I—can’t move yet,” he grits. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You nod weakly, adjusting your hips—but it’s too slow for him. He shifts, trying to pull back, but your body sucks him in deeper. His knees buckle.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna…”

When you finally push him to lie back and straddle him—easing yourself down inch by fat inch—his head falls back with a groan so loud it shakes your chest.

“God, yes—ride me, ride me. Take it—please—I’ll be good—just move—just fuckin’ move on me—”

You grind down slow, gasping every time the stretch hits a new edge, your gummy walls gripping him like fire. And Jake? He watches with wide, disbelieving eyes, like he’s never going to recover from this. Trying to touch every patch of skin he can touch.

He doesn’t last long.

By the time you start bouncing, it’s over for him—his hands gripping your hips too tight, his head dragging against your chest, hips punching up into yours like he’s trying to leave a mark inside you. He moans your name again and again, like a curse.

He finishes inside you, painting you with the thickest load you ever felt. He barely pauses before flipping you onto your back in front of him, and lining up again.

You try to speak—protest, tease, something—but then he’s thrusting back in raw, and your body seizes under him with a high scream.

“Oh my god—Jake—”

His cum is still slicking your walls. He groans, watching the mess.

“You’re gonna take it all,” he moans, fucking deeper, slower. “Gonna keep it warm for me—let me fill you again.”

He keeps going—harder, deeper, wetter. His rhythm is messy, almost frantic. He’s not careful anymore. He’s not pretending. He grabs your hips like handles and slams in, again, again, again—

“Want this pussy loose from my cock,” he groans. “Want it to miss me—want it dripping so bad it calls for me in the middle of the night—”

You scream his name again, legs kicking as the next orgasm builds too fast. He watches you come undone with wild, manic pride—like every second of your pleasure feeds something dark and bottomless in him.

It's too freaking fast for you, but it’s too good to stop.

When he pulls out, his cum drips from your stretched, fluttering hole, and Jake stares like he’s been hypnotized.

“…It’s perfect,” he whispers.

He dips down. Licks your lips clean. Moaning, tasting himself on your cunt like he’s tasted salvation. You suddenly feel his fingers scissoring you just to measure the new gape he created. “Fuck, I hope it stay like that… Mine only.”

You chuckle, regaining a stable breath. And when you think he might be done, might finally let you breathe, he climbs back over you again. Cocks already twitching back to life.

“You said I could do anything I wanted, Yeah ?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You nod with questioning eyes—still dazed, spent—and Jake smiles.

That smile? It’s not shy anymore. It’s hungry and deeply perverted.

Your body’s still trembling when Jake pulls you up by the hips, flipping you like a ragdoll. You barely have time to whimper before he yanks your ass up, knees under you, back arched high—exposed, dripping, ruined—and so perfect for him.

He grabs your ass with both hands, spreading you wide. His cock, still wet from the last round, nudges your slit again.

“Fucking look at this,” he breathes, voice shaking. “God—you’re still gaping. I can see where I came in you. You’re still so open waiting for me.”

Jake’s fingers tighten around your hips, he’s yanking you upright by the arm—his other arm circling under your chest, palming your breasts like they’re sacred and obscene all at once. Then he trusts again, slow but brutal, every fat inch meeting with your convulsing gummy wall.

“Look,” he pants into your neck, breath scalding, hips still twitching. “Look at how full you are—fuck, you’re dripping, it’s leaking down your thighs, and it’s still warm in—” He groans, not even finishing the thought as he runs his fingers down to catch it, spreading the slick mess over your lower stomach before pressing it back into your folds like he can’t stand to waste a drop. “You were made to be full like this.”

He thrusts his hips forward once—just to feel the bulge press against your stretch again—and exhales something close to a sob.

“I want to keep you like this. Plugged.”

You barely catch your breath before he shifts again, guiding you back to all fours, but not letting go of your breast, tweaking the sensitive peak as your spine arches.

“Want to stretch you wider, ok ? ‘m gonna push deeper than last time. Make it stick.”

He presses into you again—slower this time, but deeper—and you feel every fat inch of him slide back inside, your walls fluttering around him in overstimulated spasms.

He groans loud, needy. “So fucking warm. So tight. You’re perfect. You know ? You were made for me— You take it so good— I could die.”

You whimper into the mattress, already unraveling.

“I’ll ruin this cunt until it remembers me,” he growls, losing himself in the thrust. “Every time you sit.” He goes harder, “Every time you walk.” Again, “You’ll feel me.”

He thrusts hard—brutal and fast now—slapping into you with the force of a fevered obsession. His hand claws at your hip, pulling you back into him like he can’t bear even a millisecond of distance.

“Tell me I can fill you again,” he begs, voice cracking. “T-tell me you want it—fuck—tell me I can keep going until there’s nothing left.”

“Jake—” You gasp, trying to push up on shaky arms, but he shoves you back down, pressing between your shoulder blades with possessive weight.

“Say it,” he groans. “Please, say I can wreck you. That you want it.”

“I—” your voice breaks as he hits a spot next to your cervix, so deep your toes curl. “Yes! Fuck, yes, Jake—don’t stop—!”

He loses it. One hand fists in your hair, the other gripping your waist so hard it bruise. He pounds into you, groaning curses and sweet nothings between breathless cries of your name, like he’s chanting a prayer.

“God, I’ve thought about this—fucking obsessed. Couldn’t sleep. Had to jerk off just thinking about this ass bouncing on me, this pussy milking me dry. You don’t know what you do to me—what you make me into.”

Every thrust feels like a claim. Every sound he rips from your throat is one more piece of you handed over. You thought he was prey—but he’s devouring you. He’s been playing the long game. And now that he’s got you?

He’s never letting go.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, voice splintering with madness, like it’s the only truth keeping him tethered. “Tell me you’ll take it all again. I’ll pump you so full you’ll forget your name—only know mine. Tell me.”

“Jake—”

He snarls, hips slamming into you with dizzying rhythm, cock hitting a spot so deep your vision spots. “Tell me you want me to fill you until this tight little cunt can’t forget me. Until it stays open for me. Until no one else can even fit.”

Your whole body spasms. You reach back, fingers blindly digging into his hip, trying to hold onto something.

“I love it,” you cry out, head lolling back. “I love what you’re doing—I love you ruining me—Jake—fuck, I love it—!”

You feel him twitch inside, feel the moment he breaks again—spilling inside you like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to do. He stays buried deep, shaking, moaning, pressing his hips against you with frantic desperation still spilling the remaining seeds, like he wants to seal it inside.

He collapses forward, chest against your back, kissing your neck like a sinner desperate for mercy.

And then, softly—shattered and breathless—he begs again:

“You love it ?”

Your voice is wrecked, but you find it. “I-I love it, good boy— I love what you do to me.”

He exhales, trembling, and chuckling darkly into your skin. “Then I’m never stopping.”

And you believe him. Because you’re not the one holding the leash anymore. You never were probably. You just didn’t know how good it would feel to be the one hunted.

Your eyes flutter open to the soft drag of warm fabric between your thighs.

He’s there.

You blink the haze from your eyes, watching through half-lidded lashes as Jake crouches at the edge of the bed, his face pink and still damp, hair sticking to his forehead, shirtless, the early haze of dawn casting soft shadows on his skin. He’s focused, wiping you clean with shaking hands and too much gentleness for someone who left you gasping and broken just hours ago. Every inch of your body aches in places you didn't know could feel pleasure, And he’s biting his lip—focused, like touching you now requires permission.

You stir, but he doesn’t flinch. Just looks up at you slowly. His eyes are red-rimmed but not tired. They're quiet. Obsessively quiet. Like he’s holding himself back from crawling up and kissing every bruise he left.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I—I went too far. I got lost. I couldn’t stop. You were so—” He breaks off, clenching the cloth in his fist. “I need you to know I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blink. Not because you’re afraid. But because something in you knew. Deep down, you wanted to provoke this side of him. But still… you didn’t expect it to be so uncontainable.

So overwhelming.

So real.

“I’m okay, Jake” you say softly. He lets out a breath like it’s the first air he's had all morning. You reach for him—touch his jaw gently. He leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

“You ruined me,” he mumbles, kissing your hand slowly, voice low and trembling. “You don’t even know it. I can't think straight anymore. Can’t stop needing to make you feel everything I feel.”

Suddenly, you pull yourself up, trying not to look too exhausted. Your feet now set themselves on his thighs. Seeing him in this position, kneeling under you makes you exalted.

His Head bowed, hands folded in his lap, waiting. The silence is electric. His breath stutters, when your legs slowly part just enough for his eyes to drift upward.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, voice steady, even if you’re burning on the inside.

His eyes close for a second like it physically hurts to contain it. He nods with shame.

“Y-you know I do. P-please. I’ll do anything. You—you can hurt me, use me, ignore me—I don’t care. Just don’t make me stop loving you like this.”

Something in you softens and sharpens all at once.

You grip his jaw tighter. “Then show me what that looks like when I’m the one in control.”

He hesitated a bit. Then kneels his head on the floor—beautiful, trembling. You let him simmer for some minutes, then, you tilt his chin up, slowly, watching the way his eyes glaze the second you touch him. “If you want me,” you say quietly, “you’ll have me. But only on my terms. You’ll kneel like this. You’ll ask for everything. You’ll learn to wait.”

His breath catches. His hands dig into his thighs, and his gaze—still glassy—locks on yours with desperate intensity.

“And if I say no?” you ask, teasingly.

He leans forward without thinking, resting his cheek on your thigh, voice small and broken:

“Then I’ll wait until you say yes. Even if it kills me.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, stroking him, calming him—but also owning him. His eyes flutter shut, his breath syncing with yours, his whole body melting into that position like it’s where he was always meant to be.

You smile.

He doesn’t know it yet—but you’re going to let him have you again. You want him too.

But next time ? You’ll tame him just enough to remind him who he belongs to.

And if he snaps? God, you almost hope he does.

Because nothing has ever felt more like home than the arms of the beast who chose to kneel.

Thank you so much for reading!

This is my first time posting (even though my drafts folder's overflowing). I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while, and with Enha comeback hitting me hard, I finally said, “Screw it—just post it!”

Originally, this was meant to be a one-shot of mutli ver. Step bro enha, but the word count and inspo had other plans, so I split it into two parts:

Jake’s: HUNTED

Heeseung’s: TRAPPED

(And possibly a third: Sunghoon’s: CHAINED)

I’d really appreciate any feedback—good or bad! It helps me improve, and honestly, just knowing someone read it means the world 💗

I’ll be doing a bit of proofreading and maybe polishing up the rest if people are into it.

xoxo~ 💋

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mysarcasticgreencrayon · 2 hours ago

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And I do love the movies. I'm so grateful to have them because they brought Tolkein and his wondrous world to life. I wasn't a big reader when the movies came out. I slogged through RotK and, well, I hated it. But I loved the movies. As adaptations I think they're some of the best there is. I grew up with the Bakshi movies and let's just say... I do not like them. At all. Watching them feels like someone is taking their fingernails across the chalkboard that is my mind. So these Jackson movies were my entrance into a world I absolutely adore. I'm older now; I'm a voracious reader who can better appreciate these books despite their wordiness. Faramir is my favorite literary character of all time. Éowyn was so amazing to me, a teen going through depression, that she came out of it and survived. Their romance has always been ideal to me and probably why I have unrealistic expectations for my own love life. So, yes, I love these movies but I'm also SUPER sad that they did what they did to Faramir's character, Éowyn's feelings for Aragorn, the "heroification" of Aragorn at the expense of other characters, and that they filmed more endings for Faramir/Éowyn and Legolas and Gimli that we didn't get to see. I watch the extended editions of the movies almost 99% of the time over the theatrical editions and it makes my experience even better. I hoard every minute of Faramir and Éowyn in RotK EE like gems and gold and keep them close to my heart.

But I've been watching these movies for 20+ years and will continue to do so!! The last paragraph @sindar-princeling wrote is something I completely agree with; I come back to these movies constantly because I enjoy them so much. They're top tier to me in so many ways. But I don't mind being critical of changes made and listening as others analyze and synthesize their thoughts about how those changes were not the best for certain characters. It's okay to think critically about things. And I think critically about the books too. Yeah, I read and watch things just for the pure enjoyment and happiness it brings and sometimes I consume those same materials more critically.

TL;DR I will always love the movies because they're pretty great and so many parts of the book were brought to life greatly but I'll still be sad my favorite characters got the short end of the stick and character assassination happened but the parts of the movies that had them will always be some.of my favorite and I will always watch the movies l/read the books for both fun and critical thinking

the LOTR movies are an absolute phenomenon to me in a sense that you would think if there's one thing that can absolutely kill an adaptation it's inaccurate/lacking characterisation, right? and somehow, with the lotr movies, the answer is, "wrong".

I don't know if this next paragraph is just my experience, but I've seen lots of people hate the characterisation of several character in the movies (gimli, legolas, faramir, merry, and more), and yet the movies are still, broadly speaking, really appreciated in the fandom, even by those same people who have their problems with the characterisation (me included)

LOTR movies did such a good job in so many aspects - the costumes, the sets, the props, the location designs, the little touches that add heart and soul to the movies, the scenes that do SO MUCH justice to their book counterparts, the music, the acting - that it managed to outweigh flaws in something as fundamental as characterisation by a TON and they're still loved two decades later. it's really amazing to me

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priyajoyy · 3 days ago

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Sleepy (Drabble)

Dark!shauna shipman x reader

(From dark!shauna, dark!nat, dark!lottie universe)

Bit of a short one

Your so tired, but Shauna won’t let you sleep, not till you do what your told like a good girl

Warnings:

Sleep deprivation, abuse, toxic relationships, talks of cannibalism, cannon typical stuff

Your eyelids blinked slowly.

You could barely keep them open.

You were so tired.

But you couldn’t go to sleep yet.

No, not till Shauna said so. And that wasn’t happening till you told her the truth.

You leaned back onto her chest, trying desperately to keep your eyes open as you settle onto Shauna’s body, the sheets of the bedding below you on the bed feeling so enticing, despite being old and belonging to some dead stranger in the woods.

“You better not be falling asleep there” Shauna mutters softly, almost sweetly, stroking up and down your arms gently like she wanted you to defy her orders.

You don’t respond, your blinks growing slower and further apart as you stare towards the window across the room, seeing nothing but tree through the dirty glass.

You were sat on the old bed in the dead guys bedroom, just the two of you, while the others were probably blissfully unaware, sat in the main room of the cabin or out doing stuff outside.

Natalie had tried joining you both the night before, saying it was her turn, but Shauna was adamant it was just the two of you, ominously speaking of how you needed punishing.

You can’t help but hold your eyes closed painfully for a moment, blinking away tears as you try not to think of how tired you were.

“Hey” she snaps, slightly harsher, tapping at your cheek as you quickly blink your eyes open again, muttering a small ‘sorry’.

She’d woken you in the early hours of the morning yesterday, before it was light out, under the guise of needing help with some of the animals she was butchering for dinner that week, making you sit by and watch as she pulled out their guts.

You didn’t have to actually do anything, just sit prettily and watch her, something she’d remind you of if you tried to ask why you had to be up too.

She had told you she just needed the company while she butchered their dinner.

You’d probably be fine right now if you had anything to do.

But sitting on the bed, staring at the walls with Shauna’s soft touches, the time passed by so slowly and your energy depleted quickly.

“You know what you’ve gotta do if you wanna go to sleep” Shauna coaxed calmly, turning you round on her lap to face her.

Your body swayed slightly at the movement, looking at her with a tired expression and drooping eyelids.

She’d had you say there for hours, staring off blankly through the entire night, and now you could barely keep your eyes open.

She pouts mockingly, taking a hand to your face and holding you gently.

“You look so tired” she says in a faux sweet voice, frowning at the look on your face, “you poor thing”

“I’m sorry shauna” you mutter in a weak voice, staring down at her chest and avoiding eye contact with the brunette.

“Awe my poor dumb bunny” she says with a pout, stroking your cheek with her thumb softly, “but you know that’s not what I mean”

You sniffle, looking up at her slowly, your eyes watering a little.

“I don’t know what you want…” you state hesitantly, a stray tear falling out of one of your eyes, which the girl quickly brushed off of you.

“Yes you do” she states in a harsher voice, her thumb making its way to your mouth and delicately brushing over your lips.

“You know exactly what I mean buns”

Her thumb pushes into your mouth lightly, as she stares you down. Leaving it there for a minute, glaring you down intimidatingly before pulling away again.

You lay your head across her chest when she allows you, feeling her capture the top of your head in a gentle grip, twisting and stroking your hair.

You sniffle more, letting more tears fall as you plead with her again, whispering, “I really don’t…”

Her grip on your hair gets tighter, wrapping your hair in her fist.

She pulls your head up off of her, holding you tightly in place by her grip on you, forcing you to face her again, “I promise I don’t!”

You’re practically whimpering at her grip and glare.

“Are you really that dumb” she pouts cruelly, “you really don’t know what you did?”

You only whimper again, shaking your head in a quick ‘no’ as best you can.

You had no idea what she was talking about, nothing had happened yesterday, or the day before.

Though you wouldn’t put it past Shauna to be mad about something from a week ago, only now punishing you and expecting you to know what she was talking about still like a mind reader.

Shauna only mumbles another ‘Awee’ your hair still held in her fist as she holds you firmly in-front of her own.

“I’m sorry…” you murmur out, hoping to appease her, “I’m-I’m really sorry”

“It’s okay” she says stroking your head with her free hand. The sun was shining into the room now, bright despite the cold.

You lean into her touch, laying your head into her hand further to try lessen her grip on your scalp.

You eye her hesitantly, your only inch’s from her own face now.

“Say it” she commands you. Her grip not lessening.

You don’t have to be a mind reader to know what she wants.

“I love you Shauna” you whimpered. She finally smiles.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets spoiler #shauna shipman #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #lottie mathews x reader #shauna shipman thoughts 💭#shaunanat x reader #shauna shipman x you

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fligniuz · 2 days ago

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hot for teacher - boy meets girl

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ dr. mangione’s job at UH Mānoa doesn’t get interesting until he meets the cute german romanticism professor in the lunch line one chance afternoon. here’s how two awkward, clueless nerds get around a workplace romance.

word count: 5.1k • ch. 1 of hot for teacher (read here!) • sfw • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @mrs-cactus69 , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading , @theloverfiles , @luigis-wetdream , @difensore-del-popolo , @contrarianshitstan-blog , @lunacelia (comment to be added)

warnings : f! reader; some language; luigi being geeky

notes : prepare to get schooled

Dr. Mangione does not often find himself at the campus food court.

It’s not UH Mānoa’s fault. Really, he’s found it quite a charming place to be, and he’s thoroughly enjoyed the two years he’s spent teaching Computer Science at the IT Center—he’s made other professor friends, gets along nicely with his students (even if he’s still having trouble remembering their names), and overall has found an environment that both welcomes and challenges him at once. Returning to UPenn to secure this position for himself was by far one of the best choices he’s ever made. Even though the PhD in Computer and Information Science wasn’t the most necessary thing, it was the right thing, and he’s more than happy to have earned it.

It’s just that on-campus food isn’t the most appetizing, 99% of the time.

He lives in Hawaiʻi. There’s so many different things to eat in Hawaiʻi—so many cultures and traditions from all around the world to find on this island, and yet he can hardly get some good fucking food anywhere in this university (which is quite big, mind you). Best he’s had is a chicken sandwich, and even that couldn’t compare to the one place he tried in Wahiawā a few years back. Maui Mike’s? Whatever. He wishes Maui Mike was in charge of the chicken sandwiches here.

Someone joins him in line for bento. He notices the green badge hanging from their neck, first. A fellow educator.

Admittedly, he notices the pretty face next.

“I truly hope you’re not here for the bento,” Luigi greets.

“Why?” You turn to him, eyes curious. “I’m always here for the bento.”

Oh, he feels sorry for you! Your poor soul has probably never experienced all the bento Hawaiʻi has to offer.

He shakes his head, smiling. “I love this school, but, man, the food…”

You seem to notice his own badge, then, tucked underneath the loose button of his linen shirt.

“Ah, don’t be ungrateful!” you joke. “The cooks work so hard. Have you met Koa? He’s the sweetest.”

Luigi has met Koa, about once or twice. Koa is the one who always shorts him on fries, he thinks. A sweet cook would never short faculty on fries—but maybe Koa was just having a bad day. He’ll take your word for it.

“At this point I should pack my own lunch,” Luigi says, “but I never have time for it in the mornings.”

“You like sleeping in?” you ask.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, then tilts it quizzically. “Well, maybe. I probably turn in for bed too late.”

“Let me guess: Biographical Research?”

He smiles. “Computer Science.”

“Wow!” you exclaim, moving forward in line with him. “See, I guessed bio because nobody in that department sleeps. I think they all live off of coffee and 5-Hour Energy shots.”

“I’m not huge on coffee,” Luigi reveals.

You make a quizzical face. Cute. “How can you be a professor and not love coffee?”

“I like tea better. Doesn’t mess with my stomach.”

“Now that I agree with,” you say pointedly. “Have you tried the teahouse on campus?”

He’s really gonna have to show you some better options sometime.

“I’ve never seen you around before,” Luigi says suddenly. He’s not sure why. He should’ve just stuck to the teahouse conversation.

You smile warmly at him. “We aren’t in the same department.”

“Well, what do you teach?”

“Languages and Literatures of Europe and the Americas,” you reply proudly. “Well, that’s my department. I teach German Romanticism and general Studies in Culture.”

That’s a mouthful. A very intriguing one, at that.

“Ah,” he nods. “So you’re in Humanities, then.”

“That’s right. Hawaiʻi Hall.”

He’s stopped by a few times before—mainly to catch up with Mrs. Ito, his Philosophy pal. It’s a nice place. Friendly people. He thinks you might be his favorite so far.

“You could pop in one Tuesday,” you suggest. “See me in action. 2:30 to 3:30. We’re translating some Eichendorff right now.”

He thinks he will, if it’s not too weird. A teacher among the students could be distracting. Maybe he’ll lose his badge for the day.

Luigi offers you a hand, which you shake firmly.

“I’d like that,” he says. “It was very nice to meet you.”

Dr. Mangione has got the hots for a Humanities professor.

It starts that next Tuesday, when he walks into your lecture—sans his badge—to sit and listen to you educate your students about Das Marmorbild, apparently one of Joseph von Eichendorff’s greatest works. It seems to be one of your favorites, anyway.

“Alright, kids. What does this statue of Venus mean to Florio?”

A brunette among the rows of seats raises her hand.

“It’s an idealization of feminine beauty,” she says, “and he feels drawn to her seductive nature, as opposed to that of Bianca the maiden.”

You nod. “We could get more specific.”

Another hand rises.

“Venus is a critique of Romanticism,” the student answers. “Florio is more attracted to art than to human connection, and it nearly destroys him in the end.”

“Good,” you praise. “Eichendorff is commenting on a familiar tale in the culture of Romanticism. Florio finds himself so attracted to this statue of Venus that it disrupts his relationships with other humans in his life, like Bianca and Donati.”

Halfway through, Luigi starts taking notes. An old habit, one he only uses nowadays when he’s reading materials for his own lectures—but he finds himself so entranced with the way you discuss Florio and his affections towards this living statue of Venus, the way you recall a story he’s never read before. He thinks then that he’d like to introduce you to some of his favorite books, just to listen to you recount your thoughts in your gentle, guiding voice.

“We see this clearly in the scene at the lady’s palace,” you continue. “Later on, when Florio leaves Lucca with his friends, the palace is nothing but ruins, and Donati seems to be a figment of his wild imagination. Eichendorff is showing us that Florio neglected the company of his friends for the mystical Venus, who may or may not exist. Pietro and Fortunato make this clear when they tell Florio of the legends surrounding the temple of Venus.”

Das Marmorbild appears to be a story of yearning and, mainly for Luigi, regret. He underlines the word for emphasis.

3:30 comes faster than he expected. By the time the rest of your students are filing out of the lecture hall, Luigi is fumbling with the zipper of his backpack. Hoping you’ll notice him.

“You showed up,” you greet once the room is empty, smiling shyly. “Did I see you taking notes?”

“Oh, yeah!” he nods. You’re making your way up to the back row of seats, where he’s stationed, playing with the spiral binding of his journal. “Um, I’ve never read any Eichendorff, so it’s a bit jumbled.”

“Could I look at them?”

He slides you his notebook, the page filled with chicken scratch of impressively well-synthesized ideas and takeaways from your lesson. It takes a few moments of silence for you to read through it all, and your eyes dance happily over the word regret underlined at the bottom.

“These are wonderful,” you compliment. “You have a good grasp of Eichendorff’s style, even if you’ve never studied him. You’d do well on my quizzes.”

Luigi smiles. “You’re an incredible teacher. I learned from the best, clearly.”

Are you…blushing?

No. Surely not. He doesn’t get the chance to see before you ruffle your hair and smile back, quick and dirty. “Well, I’m flattered.”

Mental note: Luigi has got to read more Eichendorff.

He shows up to Hawaiʻi Hall once more that evening—this time with a question of his own.

“Miss,” Luigi starts. “I hope I’m not too blunt, but I wanted to pick your brain about something.”

You’re packing up your things, stuffing your bag messily. Classic professor shit.

“Oh, sure,” you reply. “I like having my brain picked.”

“You teach Studies in Culture as well, right?”

You nod. “That's right. Latin America, specifically.”

“The cultures that you’ve researched—they used computers, correct?”

A blink from you. A lilt of the head.

“I mean, not computer computers,” he elaborates, “but systems of computing. Like…an abacus, or some kind of counting device?”

“Oh!” Now you’re nodding. “Yes, of course. Most cultures did.”

“Yeah,” he nods along. “So, I wanted to ask you: would you like to join one of my lectures sometime? You could discuss early computing in Latin America, or Germany, or whatever society you’d like.”

And…Now you’re silent. Fuck. He shouldn’t have bothered. He just met you!

“You want me…to join one of your classes?”

“Only if you’d like,” Luigi assures you. “It’s just that my students are having some trouble applying their knowledge outside of the classroom. I think they’d have a better understanding of what they’re learning if someone like you came in, explained how these civilizations created their own systems to adapt to their world. It would show them that computers aren’t a new thing, and that we’ve always needed them. You get what I’m saying?”

Man, he’s blabbing. Typical Dr. Mangione.

“And…you want me to do it?”

It’s not like he knows anyone better for the job.

“I know this sounds silly,” he starts, “but I was really impressed by your class today. Really. The way you articulate your perspective, your attitude towards your students, how you engage with them…”

It’s sexy, he wants to say. Better to leave that on the table.

“I just think you’re one of the most talented professors I’ve met in this school,” he reveals, sincerely. “Do you know the last time I took notes for a class I’m not even in? Never! I’ve never done that! And yet, I was so intrigued by you that I couldn’t stop myself from writing down everything you conveyed.”

You look down towards your nails, surveying the chipped polish and clear gel underneath. Remnants of a manicure. Who bought that for you?

“Well,” you breathe. “I think I’d need some time to prepare, read over some things first.”

“Sure,” Luigi nods.

“But, if you think it would help your students, then I’d be honored to.”

Jackpot.

“I’m so glad!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together. Maybe too much excitement? “I think this will be great. What time is best for you to come in? I’m at the IT Center Mondays and Wednesdays, from noon to 1:30.”

Noon to 1:30, on Mondays and Wednesdays. Good days for you. You teach on an opposite schedule: Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Next Wednesday would be fine,” you say. “We’re almost finished with our discussion of Das Marmorbild, and I’d like to put my full attention towards that.”

“I understand,” he agrees. “Next Wednesday works fine for me, too. I’ll plan it out, get with you on the details.”

He’s probably way too eager about this. He just really wants you in his lab, showing off for all his students. They’ll be mesmerized—if they find him impressive, you’ll certainly be something.

As Luigi is walking out of your lecture hall once more, you stop him.

“Oh, Dr.?” you perk up. “You don’t have to call me ‘Miss’. Just my first name is alright.”

He’s not sure when you learned about the PhD. He likes the way “Dr.” sounds in your mouth, though.

The next Wednesday couldn’t come quicker.

You’ve planned an outline, essentially a dialogue between you and his students that covers all the bases he wanted to touch: earliest examples of computing across cultures, why these machines were developed, who made them, their importance to modern Comp Sci. Specifically, you pay attention to female engineers (or at least, the ones allowed to practice their passions at the time): Ada Lovelace makes quite the appearance in your notes, as well as classics in the field, like Alan Turing and Charles Babbage. It’s everything he wanted—a lesson in history and culture, emphasizing the importance of this kind of study, while still relevant to his subject. It couldn’t be more perfect.

Not to mention, you show up looking like a bombshell. Nice skirt and a flattering blouse and some mascara. Luigi tries not to imagine that it’s for him.

You only spend a minute on your introduction, and then you’re diving right in:

“Can anyone here tell me what one of the very first computers was?”

Steven from the front raises his hand.

“The abacus!” he answers.

Smiling, you nod. “That’s right. And where did the abacus come from?”

This time, the room is silent.

“A few cultures utilized the abacus for counting,” you explain. “Some scholars believe the Old Babylonians used it for addition and subtraction. Many Greeks used the abacus, too, largely up until the French Revolution.”

You click the remote of Luigi’s projector, and on screen, an aged photo of an abacus-like system is displayed.

“This is the Salamís Tablet, first discovered in 1846.”

“What’s Salamís?” Steven asks.

You smile again. “Salamís is the largest Greek island on the Saronic Gulf, about one nautical mile from the coast of Athens. This tablet, made of marble, was originally created around 300 BC.”

Ah. You’ve got some geography up your sleeve, too.

“Around the same time, the Chinese were using their own abacus, called a suanpan.” You click the remote again, showing the students an illustration of the very Chinese abacus you’ve described. “The prototype of this device was first observed during the Han dynasty, around 200 BC. Some schools in China still use the suanpan for math instruction.”

Luigi prays, for the first time in a long while, that his students can’t see his eyes trailing over you as you speak.

“It might surprise you that some educators still use such ancient technology to teach arithmetic,” you explain, “but, really, these old things can show us a lot about computers back in the day, and particularly, how we used them.”

You click the remote to reveal something that looks like it might come out of Dora’s backpack.

The astrolabe.

“This is one of the world’s first analog computers, or, rather, calculators,” you explain. “The astrolabe was developed from the armillary sphere, invented during the Hellenistic period.”

A student in the far left corner—Clara, maybe—raises her hand.

“How did it work?” Maybe Clara asks. “It just looks like a faded compass to me.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s a strange looking thing. Essentially, astronomers used this tool to make specific predictions about space.”

But then you falter for a bit, looking toward Luigi.

He doesn’t blame you. Astronomy is fucking weird. It’s also not your department. Him, though? It remained a childhood dream for a reason.

“It’s like an inclinometer,” Luigi adds, facing the lab. “It can calculate altitude and local latitude of celestial bodies, and it can triangulate, too.”

“But it had some more practical applications across cultures,” you say, seemingly back on your feet. “Specifically, it was of great use to the Islamic religion. Many of you know that Muslims pray several times a day, correct?”

Some heads nod.

“Well, the timing of prayer was astronomically determined, so the astrolabe could define the specific schedule of worship. That, and Muslims must also face Mecca each time they pray, which requires precise direction. That’s where the astrolabe came in handy for them.”

“There is another Hellenistic tool, though, older than even the astrolabe,” you continue, turning to the next slide on the projector. A fragment of aged bronze is on display, with a thick X carved right into the center.

Luigi always forgets the name of this one.

“Behold the Antikythera mechanism.”

Right. Antikythera. Sounds like a spider, or a Mortal Kombat character. Classic Greek shit.

The students do not seem impressed.

“Looking at this thing, you probably can’t imagine any good use coming of it, right?” You gesture knowingly toward the seemingly broken thing, accentuating its jagged edges and rough details. “If I told you it’s meant to be a model of the Solar System, you’d be right to laugh in my face. But if I showed you this…”

Now, you display a much clearer image, one of a machine with refined golden parts and dashes of color and limbs branching from its dome-like center, almost like a clock with extra hands.

Steven guffaws. “That’s not the same thing.”

You smile. “Not exactly the same. But a recreation.”

Luigi can’t help but return your enthusiasm. You have a way of building up to things, revealing information in a way that’s fiercely fresh and yet not too overwhelming. You’re animated—your hands move with your lips, adding emphasis and motioning toward your slideshow. It’s entrancing.

“The Antikythera mechanism was split into more than eighty fragments when it was first discovered on the Greek island of Antikythera in 1901. The man who discovered it, Valerios Stais, suggested it was an astronomical clock, but his theory was rejected. Why do you think that is?”

A student in the front raises their hand cautiously. “Nobody knew what it was?”

Giggling, you concede, “that may have been part of it. But originally, most scholars believed the Antikythera mechanism was a prochronism, a device too complicated to have been made during its time. Lots of people just couldn’t believe that its inventors had such extensive knowledge about the universe.”

The recreated Antikythera mechanism on screen deconstructs into several parts, each accordingly labeled with annotations in the model you’ve chosen.

“It turns out, though, that this thing had a network of gears that, through the zodiac, allowed it to calculate the movement of the Sun and the Moon, eclipses, moon phases, and calendar cycles. Some even believe that it could determine the location of planets.”

It seems to make more sense to the students, now that they see a refined vision. What was once a wrecked lump of bronze becomes a magnificent symbol of ancient Greek invention—a marvel of pure, human curiosity, back when words alone could not formulate the breadth of knowledge possessed by man and machine alike.

“It’s believed that Hipparchus may have been involved in the construction of the Antikythera mechanism,” you say, “since its ability to track the irregular orbit of the Moon is consistent with his studies. His observations likely paved the way for its invention.”

Hipparchus, father of trigonometry, once walked the metropolis of Alexandria in search of the truth of the stars. His weather calendars in Bithynia led him to Rhodes, where only a minute fraction of his legacy survived among the windmills. He was a man starved for knowledge.

“Much like Hipparchus,” you begin, clicking the remote. A portrait of a sitting man with short-cropped hair and a sandy beard is shown to the students. “John Napier was a man of numbers. His study of logarithms and his invention led to significant development in the use of counting tools.”

Now, the students see an open box with several sticks inside of it, about finger length, marked with slashes and numbers.

“In 1617, he published a treatise that detailed three devices that could aid in making simple calculations,” you say. “Most importantly, he defined rabdology and his new tool, Napier’s bones.”

A student asks, “what’s rabdology?”

“That’s the term Napier picked to describe the use of the bones,” Luigi clarifies.

“Would you like to describe how they work?” you ask him, lashes fluttering.

His heart does a record scratch.

You noticed. You noticed that he likes math. And now you’re letting him step in for the parts that he particularly enjoys. Wow. Your intuition and natural guidance of the lecture stuns him, shocks him like lightning right where he stands in front of the desk.

“Uh,” he stammers, “they’re good for multiplication and division. These square notches in the bones represent a simple multiplication table, which you can use to reduce the operation into…addition.”

“That’s right,” you affirm. “You can perform division as well, much in the same manner.”

You click the remote to turn to the next slide, revealing a portrait of a man looking quite clownish—his egg-shaped cap and star-shaped collar aren’t helping the image.

“Can anyone tell me what this guy invented?”

Now this is his favorite part.

The students don’t respond, but Luigi knows the answer. This guy is one William Oughtred of Cambridge, inventor of the slide rule.

“Shortly after Napier published his work on logarithms, William Oughtred crafted a nifty mechanical calculator from two Gunter rules to make what we would call today the slide rule.” You click again, showing an aged illustration of Oughtred’s tool.

“His idea didn't catch on because of some personal drama,” you explain, “but in 1677, Henry Coggeshall took his own spin on the design, creating a two-foot folding rule for measuring timber.”

The projector displays Coggeshall’s slide rule, which doesn’t look much different, but its implications prove an impressive application to unrelated subjects.

“Several scholars of several subjects had their own takes on the slide rule, modifying it to their own needs,” you say. “In 1722 two- and three-decade scales were introduced. Mathematician Nathaniel Bowditch created a sliding rule that included both scaled trigonometric functions and aids for navigation problems. There was even a log log slide rule by Roget, which displayed the logarithm of a logarithm. We had slide rule inception.”

Luigi smiles to himself. Slide rule inception. You are so cute.

“These slide rules were used up until about 1642, when mathematician Blaise Pascal invented a mechanical calculator after fifty prototypes,” you say, clicking the remote. On the projector screen is a blueprint of a mechanism of gears, presumably Pascal’s calculator. “Pascal made three versions of his calculator: one for accounting, one for surveying, and one for science problems.”

“Pascal’s calculator was especially successful in its carry mechanism,” Luigi adds, to which you nod. “Building it required shrinking a lantern gear.”

“Nine of these calculators still exist today,” you state. “But Pascal’s calculator influenced the design of just about every mechanical calculator that came after it. And with the evolution of the calculator, everything changed.”

On the projector is another image, this time of what appears to be a wooden loom: a tall, intricate thing, with a roll of paper hanging from one side.

“This is the first programmable loom,” you say, pointing to the man demonstrating its use. “And this is the Frenchman who invented it, Joseph Marie Jacquard. In 1801, this weaver sought an automated way to create his fabrics. Manual weaving was difficult and time-consuming, and Jacquard wanted to make that process more practical and efficient.”

Your next picture focuses specifically on that roll of paper.

“In comes the punchcards.” You gesture towards the holes pressed into the paper, silently describing the function of Jacquard’s revolutionary loom. “Jacquard used these cards to create one row of his design. These holes punched into the pasteboard tell the loom which threads to raise or pass—and after hundreds of cycles, the final piece is ready. You can think of this mechanism as the code that made his machine function masterfully.”

A few students watch with parted lips.

Nikola—Luigi thinks—raises their hand.

“And…it worked?”

You giggle. “Oh, yes. It worked very well. Jacquard was paid nobly for his invention—Emperor Napoleon and his wife Josephine even visited Lyon to see Jacquard's loom in action. In fact…”

The next image is a simple, black-and-white portrait of a man with an unfortunately receding hairline.

“I’m sure Dr. Mangione has talked some about Charles Babbage, yes?”

Luigi catches some nods around the lab.

Oh, yes. Magnificent.

“Jacquard’s punchcard mechanism inspired Babbage in creating his own Analytical Engine, the machine that led to the birth of the very first general-use computer.”

“And what was the first general-use computer, folks?” Luigi asks.

Some voices erupt: the Z3. You grin at the mention.

A German invention, of course. He can’t convey how attractive it is that you know about the Z3.

“The Analytical Engine created the Z3, but do we know what created the Analytical Engine?” you introduce, clicking the remote again; this time, a more complex machine appears, a collection of numbered wheels and golden ridges.

“This is the Difference Engine.”

Luigi even turns around himself to view Babbage’s first invention; he recognizes the image you’ve chosen as the London Science Museum’s reincarnation. The Difference Engine was certainly a product of its time, despite its first full, successful build in the 1990s: he can recall that the design of Difference Engine No. 1 weighed a whopping four tons, had over 20,000 parts, and looked…like a monster, really. Efficient, but irredeemably expensive for the British government. Not Turing-complete. Still a beauty, in his eyes.

“Babbage first designed the Difference Engine in the 1820s. It works by cranking a handle, and it utilizes decimal notation to tabulate polynomial functions,” you continue. The way the words roll off your tongue has Luigi’s nerves jittering in his body, like strings reverberating on a violin. Cranking. Decimal notation. Tabulate. Polynomial functions. This truly couldn’t get any better. It’s like you’re teaching his class for him.

He points at the machine’s metal intricacies, highlighting its functions. “Notice the double-high teeth on these left sector gears, and the mirroring of the number wheels. They can count either up or down, from left-to-right. Babbage’s machine has three steps in its overall process: the first step activates the carry lever towards the back of the engine, which is what this little tab between six and seven is for. There’s also a printing compartment on the left side, which displays the values of the calculations made.”

You smile at his technical additions, nodding along. Fuck.

“Now,” you interject. “Let’s return to Babbage’s Analytical Engine for a moment. Babbage constructed the first mechanical computers, but can any of you tell me who wrote the very first computer program?”

Silence fills the lab.

Steven raises his hand. “Was it not Babbage?”

You shake your head, grinning as you click the remote to the projector.

“This is Ada Lovelace,” you say proudly, displaying her portrait on screen. “In the early 1840s, she translated a paper on Babbage’s Analytical Engine, including a set of annotations three times as long as the original transcript.”

The information you’ve presented to his students is clearly new for them—something he should loathe, but something that thrills him as he watches it play out before his own eyes, in his own classroom.

“These notes,” you continue, “are considered the very first written computer program by many historians. Lovelace was among the first to recognize that Babbage’s machines had a more practical application, a usage outside of making calculations; in her seventh annotation, she wrote out an algorithm meant to be carried out by an engine like Babbage’s, for use with Bernoulli numbers.”

And, one of Luigi’s favorite little factoids comes up:

“Babbage respected her intellect so much that he gave her a nickname: The Enchantress of Number.”

If Dr. Mangione had a nickname for you, he thinks it would be something along the lines of “The Enchantress of Hawaiʻi Hall”.

“But Lovelace was not the only one to revolutionize computing,” you say. “In comes Alan Turing.”

There’s a lot to say about Alan Turing. Perhaps underappreciated was his stint as a philosopher—but Luigi knows much of what you are about to divulge to his class.

“All of man’s computing inventions led to Alan Turing,” you explain, gesturing to a portrait of Turing from 1951. “Turing presented the first in-depth design of a stored-program computer in 1946, a project that experienced significant delays; it was during this period of developing other softwares that he designed the Turing test, which would define the standard of machine intelligence.”

“We’ll be talking a lot about the Turing test once we get to artificial intelligence,” Luigi tells the class, to no particular excitement. When you wink at him his heart skips a beat or two, and he thinks he might need to leave the room to catch some fresh air.

“It all comes down to Turing,” you reiterate. “His ideas about computers are the central foundation of modern computing. Turing-complete is the standard for all computers today.”

The final slide that displays on the projector is a timeline, starting with the abacus around 200 BC and continuing into now. You’ve marked several points on the line where significant developments in computing were made; ancient astronomical tools, Lovelace’s notes, mechanical calculators, the Z3. From start to a never ending finish.

“And…” you murmur, “that is all I have for you today.”

A few students clap, but Luigi’s enthusiasm burns the brightest in the room. He encourages them to thank you for stopping by, and then turns to you to deliver his own message of gratitude.

“Thank you, Dr. Mangione,” you say, shaking his hand. “It was a pleasure to join you.”

A pleasure. A pleasure.

The moment the clock strikes 1:30 his students are filing out of the room (some of them do take the time to smile at you, though, which boosts his hope in humanity)—but Luigi lingers by the door as you pack up your things, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“That was something special,” he says.

You glance up at him, smiling weakly. “I just hope I didn’t bore them.”

“No, no way,” he insists, shaking his head. “They were very engaged. You keep their attention better than I do.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” you assure him.

He frowns at that. “It’s not flattery. I mean what I say. That was a wonderful lesson, exactly what I was looking for. I’m beyond impressed.”

You sigh and shuffle on your feet, opening your mouth as if you have something to say, but nothing ever comes.

“I’m glad you agreed to this,” he adds.

Slowly, you nod. “I think I am too.”

You turn to make your way towards the door, but Luigi stops you in your tracks:

“Hey, are you still eating the bento from the food court?”

You blink, then offer a crooked grin. Like you’re amused that he remembers. “I have nothing better to eat. Why?”

“You could have something better,” he proposes, “if you grabbed lunch with me instead.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, nodding. “I know lots of good places. Could show you where to get some actual food.”

You get quiet for a moment, still fumbling on your feet and messing with your hair. You look a little flustered.

“I think I’d like that,” you say after a while.

Thank god.

“Good,” he says. “Next week?”

“Okay,” you nod. “Next week.”

He’ll have to make a list of ideas.

For the first time since he started this job, Dr. Mangione is excited for next week.

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #flig’s work #📎dr. mangione

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 11 hours ago

Text

Watch your balls, boy!

Written for the May 2025 pop-up challenge of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: School's out for summer

Rated: T

Tags: Summer jobs; Country club; Tennis; Eddie has a crush on Steve; Tommy Hagan being an asshole; Steve Harrington is a little shit

“Hey, ball boy! Don’t just stand there, go get it!”

Eddie jerks out of his heat-induced daze and jogs after the ball that has rolled off to the remotest corner of the tennis court. Another bead of sweat escapes from under his hat and trickles down his burnt neck.

“I got it,” says a voice, and before he can do anything, he is treated to the vision of a perfectly round, perfectly firm ass in tight tennis shorts wiggling merrily in the hot summer air as its owner bends at the hip. “Really, Tommy. You don’t need to have the staff do every little thing for you. What is he, your dog?”

Eddie bites back a snide remark and retreats into what little shade the wire fence provides. Great, not only is he about to die from heat stroke, now they’re adding unnecessary horniness and humiliation into the mix.

The ad for the summer job at the country club promised exciting tasks and plenty of opportunities to learn lessons for life. So far, Eddie has learned three things.

One: White is not his color - especially not if paired with the violent lobster red that his skin turns after twenty minutes in the sun.

Two: Baseball hats make his face look two inches too short - but the stupid thing is part of the uniform, so he hasn’t dared take it off.

And three: Steve Harrington in tennis gear will haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

He didn't even know the Harringtons were club members, or he would’ve thought twice about applying. After all, who in their right mind wants to spend their summer melting into a sweaty puddle while their crush prances around them like a bronze-skinned, honey-haired, painfully straight Adonis with a tennis racket? Harrington probably doesn't even know his name - the chances of anything coming out of this are as thin as Eddie’s flimsy uniform shirt.

On the other side of the net, Tommy Hagan sneers.

“It’s what he’s getting paid for, isn’t it?” he grumbles. “Maybe they should get a dog instead. It would only have advantages, don’t you think? Cuter, better at following instructions, probably smarter.”

His eyes flick over to Eddie, taking in the way his fingers curl, and his mouth curls into a cruel smile.

Hagan, of course, recognized him the second he saw him. He probably has every single face from school committed to memory - all neatly categorized into those above him, so that he can grovel and bow to them, and the lowly scum at the bottom of the ladder, so that he never misses an opportunity to kick at them.

“Tommy, come on!” Harrington frowns unhappily, letting the ball bounce off the asphalt and twirling his racket. He, too, is sweating, but while Eddie is a sopping, miserable mess with a bird’s nest of wet bangs plastered to his forehead, he manages to make it look sexy, somehow. “I’d like to finish this match some time today, I still wanna hit the pool.”

But Hagan is far from done.

“Say, ball boy,” he drawls. “What does it feel like, being so dumb that a dog could do your job? What do they even pay you, huh?”

Eddie flexes his hands and stares off into the middle distance, wishing he could ram his fist into Hagan’s stupid, arrogant face.

“Hey, shitface, I am talking to you,” Hagan says, waving his racket in the air and scowling when Eddie doesn’t react. “Nevermind, whatever it is, it’s too much. Unless they pay you in dog treats, that would be- oooooow, motherfaaaaaaargh.”

Eddie blinks, trying to understand what just happened. All he knows is that, one second ago, Hagan was standing there and jeering at him, and now he’s doubled over, howling in pain and clutching the crotch of his tennis shorts.

It probably has a lot to do with the ball that just came zipping over the net and is now rolling away on the asphalt.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Hagan whimpers, looking up with accusing, teary eyes as Harrinton comes running. His freckled face has gone deadly pale and his voice is about half and octave higher. It’s almost enough to make Eddie cringe in sympathy, but only almost.

“I’m sorry,” Harrington gushes. “I thought you were ready to continue.”

“In what world did I look like I was ready?” Hagan snaps, then gasps again as another wave of pain ripples through him. “Oh fuck, you ruined me.”

Harrington claps his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just go back to the club house and put some ice on it, I’ll bring the bags.”

Eddie watches Hagan hobble away, still bent over and cursing under his breath, while Harrington packs up their gear. He just hopes the guy didn’t have any family plans with his bitchy little girlfriend.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Harrington says, walking up with two bags slung over his shoulder, and Eddie realizes a bit belatedly that he must’ve said that out loud. “I didn’t ruin him. Not in the way he’d like me to, that is. At least it’ll be a few days before he bugs anyone about balls again.”

Eddie whirls, mouth wide open. He doesn’t get to say anything, though, because Harrington has just pulled something from his bag and pressed it into his hand. It’s a bottle of sunscreen.

“This is my favorite brand, you should give it a try,” he says, gesturing at Eddie’s burned nose. And then, more quietly, “And don’t listen to him. You’re at least as cute as a dog. See you around, Eddie.”

Eddie keeps standing in the middle of the court, mouth agape and staring into nothing, long after he has disappeared into the club house. It’s only when the next couple of players arrive and scare him out of his stupor that he realizes Harrington called him by his name.

More holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles 2025

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ellswritings · 2 days ago

Text

In My Corner

Part 1

Phil Brooks/CM Punk x reader

Colby Lopez/Seth Rollins x reader

TW: Angst, Shield betrayal, Dean leaving WWE, Vince being manipulative (very brief), that’s it for now :).

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

It didn’t make sense.

It has been over a decade since Y/S/N and CM Punk have been partners. The two of them took WWE by storm. Not only as singles competitors, but as a mixed tag team as well. They fought many battles side by side and they fit quite well together despite the eight year age difference.

They had each other's backs constantly, in kayfabe and outside of it. Phil and Y/N’s characters were close and so were they. Due to the close nature of their stories, they spent thousands and thousands of hours together. They were what peanut butter is to jelly, what butter is to popcorn, they just meshed seamlessly.

Until Phil left the company.

She never blamed him for the decision. If she had the same level of courage he did at the time, she probably would’ve left too. But she had fought tooth and nail to get to the top. She had battled her way through the indies after her time in OVW and when she finally got to try out, it had finally felt like every sacrifice she made was worth it.

So when things got bad between management and Phil, she didn’t know what to do. Y/N knew Phil was right. Everyone knew. But no one was brave enough to say anything except him. She couldn’t give up everything she had built. She loved wrestling and the thought of never being able to do it again terrified her.

So despite her better judgment, she kept quiet. She remained on the main roster while Phil left the company. It broke her heart watching him walk out of the ring for the last time. Especially since he cut all contact with everyone due to legal reasons. The only issue is when he could contact everyone again, he never reached out to her.

Y/N understood why. She left him high and dry. But they were best friends. She tried to apologize multiple times but never heard back. She can’t lie, it did make her a bit bitter. But she kept her focus on her career and the new friends she had made.

The fans missed her mixed tag matches. They loved her as a singles competitor and they still do, but they missed when she had a partner to fight along with. And that’s when Vince had the bright idea to place her with the most popular faction in the company.

The Shield.

Joe, Colby, and Jonathan welcomed Y/N with open arms. She brought a certain balance to their chaotic group while simultaneously adding to it at the same time. They grew close in a very short amount of time, the three of them being there for her in the absence of Phil. She vented her frustrations to them, her anger at Phil for leaving and simply never reaching out again. Like their friendship meant nothing.

They were all angry for her. None of them could understand how Brooks could just never speak to her again. Y/N had to be one of the best if not the best person in the locker room, inside and out. It didn’t make sense how he could walk away and never try to hear her side of things.

So the three men became fiercely protective of her, and she them. They worked as a unit, cohesive in every way. In the beginning, Y/N was worried being a part of a team like this would remind her of Phil, but The Shield was vastly different. The aspect of teamwork was the same, of course, but the way they operated was different from how she and Phil did. Neither of them being worse or better than the other, just different. She never forgot how much she missed the Second City Saint, but being with her boys distracted her enough that missing him wasn’t as painful anymore.

The Shield stood on business. They were as close on screen as they were backstage. Jokes ran through the locker room and through the fans that Y/N was the unofficial “leader” of the faction despite her late entry into the group. It made them laugh because they never really thought or cared enough to determine who would be in charge. She does tend to cut more promos than they guys but that’s simply because she has the gift of gab. She could keep an audience captivated with her words for hours. Perhaps that’s where the misconception came in. But they all did their part. She just happened to talk more than them on some days.

Y/N loved standing with them at ringside during their matches and they loved standing with her. They easily became four of the most adored people in WWE. Y/N remembers a particular show where they were in Houston Texas and more than half the stadium was sporting some form of their merchandise.

They were on fire.

So it came as a surprise when the writers and Vince pitched the idea to break up the group through Colby’s character Seth Rollins. They were all rather heartbroken over the news, but the angle they were playing at was that they wanted to push all four of them more as singles competitors because of how popular they became over such a short time period. Y/N was already on track to go after the Divas championship and it wouldn’t be hard to push the guys to win their own titles too.

However, the way they went about splitting up the group had to sting worst of all. Seth had to defect from the group to join the Authority by hitting Roman in the back with a steel chair and beating Dean down as well. Y/S/N wouldn’t be out in the ring for the beginning of the segment, only running out when she sees what’s happening. Once Dean and Roman are on the floor, she would slide in the ring and shield them with herself as a lasting symbol of what The Shield stood for.

Once Seth sees her, he’s supposed to look conflicted, still having a soft spot for the woman they adopted into the group after being abandoned by her old partner. It came a lot easier for Colby than he thought. To appear distraught and at war with himself. He knew that the breaking up of this group would mean they wouldn’t get to spend as much time together, and when they did it would most likely be through feuds. He had grown attached to Y/N and the guys. It was scary thinking of going on without them, but they all agreed this would be the best for all of their careers.

Still didn’t make losing their built-in family hurt any less.

For storyline purposes, Y/S/N sided with Roman and Dean. She protected them when the Authority or Seth came after them. She was very vocal about her feelings for Seth Rollins after the betrayal which led to many verbal battles in the ring. But backstage, the four of them were all still very close. Things did take a turn for the worse though when Vince started inserting himself in the writing. Whenever Y/N and Colby would be out there, he would always put something a little extra personal in the script to make the words sting even more. Neither of them were sure how Vince even knew about some of the things he would write in, but they always performed to the best of their ability.

There was one night that hit a little harder than Y/N had expected. She didn’t know about the last minute change, the excuse being they wanted to see her “genuine reaction.” Colby had no idea she hadn’t been told, but even then he was still hesitant to say what was written, but Vince assured him Y/N was fine with it.

How stupid he was to fall for that.

The way her face fell when the words left his mouth still haunts him. He should have known better. As soon as he read it, he should have went to Y/N. He should have asked her, not just taken Vince’s word.

The arena was rumbling — the kind of vibration you felt in your chest, not just your ears. Seth Rollins was already in the ring, microphone in hand, pacing slow, that familiar smug grin pulling at his mouth as the crowd hurled boos and scattered cheers his way.

Then Y/N’s music hit.

The place exploded.

She strode out onto the stage with a smirk, rolling her shoulders loose, the heavy leather jacket slung over her frame. She walked with that same cool confidence she always carried to the ring — chin high, shoulders square, eyes locked on Seth.

In the ring, Seth watched her like a lion waiting to pounce. As soon as Y/N slid under the ropes, he gave her an exaggerated slow clap.

“Ah, there she is,” Seth drawled, leaning casually against the ropes. “The queen herself.” His eyes flicked up and down, unapologetically lingering. “Looking sharp tonight, Y/S/N. Guess you do clean up nice.”

Y/N smirked, rolling her shoulders back as she slid into the ring. “Careful, Rollins. Keep talking sweet and people are gonna think you’re soft.”

He laughed, pushing off the ropes to circle her. “Oh, trust me — no one’s ever called me soft.”

Their eyes locked, a familiar heat sparking between them — the kind that wasn’t quite hate but was too sharp to be called friendship.

“Yeah, well, most people wouldn’t call turning on your family ‘strong,’” she fires back angrily. “So you’re right, maybe soft isn’t the right word to describe someone like you.” She takes a step forward, getting in his face. “I think coward is a lot more fitting.”

Ooooh! the crowd roared.

Seth’s grin twitched wider. He turned his back to her, pacing lazily across the ring. “Funny,” he said, voice light, “you talk like you’re some loyal warhorse. But you’ve always had a bad habit of jumping ship, haven’t you?”

Her smirk tightened. Careful, she thought.

Seth turned to face her fully now, eyes glinting under the lights. “I mean, sure — you’ve got Roman, you’ve got Dean… the great Shield family reunion. But let’s not pretend you were always riding with the best.”

Y/N’s grip on the mic shifted. There was a flicker of something in her chest — a tiny warning bell.

Seth tilted his head as if gauging her reaction. “Y’know, you’ve always been good at running that mouth of yours.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near purr. “It’s almost impressive, really. But it’s nothing new, is it?”

Y/N’s brow ticked, the playful glint in her eyes flickering just slightly.

Seth’s smirk deepened. “You’ve always been good at talking big, standing tall. Just like your old pal…”

He let the name hang, savoring the moment.

“C… M… Punk.”

A ripple rolled through the arena — the crowd caught between shock and thrill. They don’t mention Punk often, or at all really. No one talked about him in the ring, and his name was only brought up backstage when they knew Vince or one of his lackeys wouldn’t hear. Y/N’s heart skipped, her smile tightening as she tried to mask the jolt running through her.

Seth circled closer, his voice sharpening, playful edge twisting into something colder. “You remember him, right? The guy who carried you through your rookie days? Who gave you a shot when no one else would?” He chuckled under his breath. “Guess some things never change — you’re still riding coattails. Only difference is, Punk knew when to bail.”

For a split second, everything inside Y/N stalled.

That wasn’t in the script.

Her heart hammered once — twice — a hard thud against her ribs.

She masked it fast, forcing a tilt of her head, a cool smile. “Careful, Seth,” she said softly, even though her fingers had gone cold around the mic.

But Seth had already stepped in. Already smelled the blood. “You remember him, don’t you?” he murmured, almost tenderly. “The man you stood beside. The one you built your name with. Until things got messy. Until walking away was easier.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the mic.

“And when it all fell apart — when he fell apart — you didn’t stand by him, Y/S/N. You didn’t fight for him. You watched him walk out that door, and you stayed.”

The audience noise was dipping, unsure, waiting.

Y/N’s throat worked, but she held the mic steady. Her mind raced — what the hell?

But Seth leaned in now, voice dropping, knife twisting. “He carried you on his back for years… and you repaid him by surviving without him. Guess that’s what you do best — survive anyone who outgrows you.” An evil chuckle escaped his lips, not realizing Y/N isn’t pretending. “Tell me… did it ever dawn on you that Punk never left WWE… he left you.”

Colby could tell that Y/N’s reaction wasn’t acting. He watched as tears began to border at her waterline. He had just rubbed salt in a wound that he, Joe, and Jonathan spent thousands of hours trying to help her heal. They had at least five more minutes of back and forth before she had to snap and attack him, but they never made it that far.

Y/N’s jaw ticked and suddenly the tears were replaced with anger. Instead of responding and continuing the promo, she marched out of the ring without so much as a glance back at him.

He knew at that point she had no idea that was added to the script. Joe and Jonathan had been watching backstage, attempting to catch Y/N before she stormed off to the locker room. She stormed through gorilla into the backstage area. Joe tried to grab her, “Y/N–”

“Don’t,” she pulls her body away from him and Jonathan before trudging over to the women’s locker room, slamming the door behind her.

From that moment on, everything felt a lot more personal. She had heard Colby out who apologized profusely for what had happened but it didn’t change the fact that Y/N was now aware of how deep Vince was willing to cut her to get a good pop.

Everything played out the way they wanted it to. Y/S/N won the Divas championship, Seth won the money in the bank and cashed in at Wrestlemania which cost Roman his title opportunity, Roman eventually got the title, and so did Dean. They were all pushed very hard despite being broken up as a group.

Over the years, storylines kept Joe and Y/N close with one another. She still went out of her way to be around Jonathan and Colby, but it was hard when they couldn’t interact as much. It also became much more difficult to connect with Colby on the level they used to after Vince started using his dialogue as a way to personally go after Y/N.

They both hated the circumstances but there was nothing either of them could do. So all Y/N did was grow tougher skin. It’s all part of the show. However, it did affect their relationship slightly. She still loved the man, but the newly formed tension always seemed to linger over them.

As time went on, their small group fractured even more when Jonathan decided to leave WWE. It was an absolute heartbreaking loss for Joe, Y/N, and Colby, but they understood why he needed to go. Over the past couple of years, the three of them had a lot more opportunities offered to them than Jonathan and he deserves more than what he was getting.

They stayed connected, but seeing each other became rare. Then when the writers proposed the Bloodline storyline with Roman and his family, Y/N knew how big that was going to be. She could see Joe leading a whole faction made up of just his family.

Until it wasn’t just his family.

Roman and Y/S/N had stayed close, done mixed tag matches, supported each other in the squared circle always. So it shouldn’t have surprised Y/N as much as it did when Joe came up to her and said he convinced Vince and the writers to include her in the Bloodline.

She didn’t understand why he wanted her, but the only thing he said was that he needed his best friend with him. That he didn’t want to lead a faction without her in it. That she was his family just as much as the rest of them.

So how could she say no?

For years Roman led the Bloodline as the Original Tribal Chief and Y/S/N stayed by his side. She fought her battles and their battles with all her heart and soul and the group ran the WWE roster. Some days Y/N would miss working closely with Colby, but she knew he didn’t need her. Not as much as Joe did.

She was almost the voice of reason for the Bloodline. The only one who could get Solo to grin without having to coax him to do it. The only person to keep Jey level headed, and the only one to continuously make jokes with Jimmy without getting on anyone’s nerves. And the most important feat of all is that she could get Roman to listen to her.

Paul Heyman was extremely grateful to have her fight the battles he wasn’t able to. When he couldn’t get the boys under control, Y/N could. Many have stepped up to their little family, and many have fallen. The only person who Y/S/N didn’t fight when they approached the Bloodline was Sami Zayn. He was a perfect fit. He brought a certain lightheartedness they all needed.

For years they helped Roman stay on top. Through the Covid era and multiple hard times, they stuck together. Unfortunately, as both Joe and Y/N have learned, nothing good seems to last. It wasn’t a surprise when it was suggested the Bloodline be broken up. Especially when Cody Rhodes came back into the picture. They had been together for a long time so it’s true the storyline started to get relatively stale.

One by one the members of the original Bloodline defected. Some came back for brief stents before taking off again. Every one of them betrayed Roman. It was, of course, to add drama to Kayfabe, but it still hurt to watch them all leave. The only two people who stuck by Roman’s side were Y/S/N and Paul Heyman.

Y/S/N made it clear from the beginning she never trusted Paul, but she did what Roman deemed as necessary. Joe and Y/N spent a lot of time together, their friendship becoming the strongest it’s ever been. Both of them held the WWE undisputed championships for their respective divisions, ruling the company with an iron fist even if they didn’t have a complete family to back them up.

However, when Survivor Series 2023 came around, Y/N was placed on Bianca Belair’s team, a close friend in and out of the ring, to fight against Damage CTRL. The two teams had been practicing their bumps for weeks, Joe even helping Y/N with some of her more difficult stunts that could seriously injure someone if not delivered correctly. She’s one of the few people Paul Levesque trusts to do the more risky moves because he knows how careful she is and how much time she’ll put in to making sure everything goes smoothly.

Bianca’s team ended up winning the battle, putting Damage CTRL in their place. The ladies were kind enough to allow Y/N to get the pin, winning the match. It was one of the best moments of her career. Hearing the pop from the audience as the five of them climb up the cage, celebrating at the top with wide smiles on their faces.

Running to the back, the first people to greet her in celebration were Joe and Colby. The latter of the two competed with Cody’s team a bit later, but he couldn’t resist watching his close friend opening the show.

“You killed it out there,” Joe says, squeezing her tightly. “I told you you’d land that corkscrew moonsault off the cage.”

“You sure you don’t have a background in Lucha?” Colby says with a teasing eyebrows as he hugs her.

“I feel like my face is buzzing,” Y/N replies, face buried in his chest. “I could probably lift a car right now.”

“Let’s not do that,” Joe pats her back, him and Colby laughing quietly.

The night went on without much issues. Y/N and Joe remained backstage. She was surprised he even came considering he wasn’t fighting tonight, but she wasn’t going to complain about having his support. When the main event came around, Y/N made her support of Cody and Colby’s team known. Especially since Joshua was on it. Joe made conversation with some other people backstage as the match continued.

Y/N smiles as Randy Orton makes his way to Gorilla, getting ready to make his big entrance. The two of them share a brief hug and quiet conversation before his music hit and he went out to join the rest of his team. Of course, Cody’s team beats the Judgement Day and Drew McIntyre, but in the midst of the celebration, a familiar static flooded the speakers in the arena.

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She had heard rumors he may come back, but she never thought it would actually happen. The woman turns on her heel and comes face to face with a man she hasn’t seen in over a decade. His familiar green eyes meet hers. It’s brief, but a whole parade of emotions crosses his face. Hurt, betrayal, remembrance, sadness, love. Y/N’s sure her expression mimics his. It was only a mere few seconds before he walked out to make his triumphant return, but in those few seconds it feels like Y/N’s entire world stopped.

Phil Brooks is back.

CM Punk has defied all odds. Hell froze over. He made it clear he would never come back. But here he is in the flesh, turning Y/N’s entire life upside down.

“Y/N…” Joe’s soft voice calls out, his hand grabbing her shoulder softly. He didn’t see everything that happened, only that she was frozen.

She’s torn out of her trance as she looks back up at her best friend, “He’s here,” her voice comes out in a whisper. “I didn’t– I didn’t think…”

“I know,” he says softly, pulling her into him.

“Did you know?” Y/N asks quietly, allowing him to hold her.

“I heard some rumors, but I didn’t think anything of it,” he admits. “If I’d have known, you’re the first person I would have told.”

“He looked right at me,” she says quietly, looking down at the floor. “Joe, I– I haven’t even spoken to him since he left.”

“And you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he tells her, lifting her chin up with his finger. “You don’t have to talk to him. You don’t owe him anything. You tried to reach out, remember? He ignored you. Him being back doesn’t change anything.”

“But that’s not true,” Y/N tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. That’s when the sound of everyone from the final fight comes barreling through the curtain to join everyone else backstage. Joe pulls them aside so they’re not in anyone’s way. “This changes everything. Especially if he starts bringing up the past.”

“And if he does, I’ll be right behind you,” he reassures her.

That’s when Colby comes charging towards them, an irritated look on his face. He looks like he’s about to tear into someone, but that’s when he notices the panic on Y/N’s face, and the angry rant he was about to go on disappears from his mind. A small exhale leaves his lips as he grabs Y/N’s hand. “Are you okay?”

Y/N nods, but her eyes travel over to Phil who’s standing next to Randy and Paul Levesque as everyone begins to welcome him back. “Just a bit surprised is all,” she admits.

“Surprised is one word for it…” Colby grumbles before glancing up at Joe, “Did Heyman know?” He asks, eyes still blazing with barely contained fury. “He’s got eyes and ears everywhere and I know damn well he would have told you of all people the second he found out.”

“He just told me there were talks of him wanting to come back,” Joe says, a scowl forming on his face at Colby’s tone. “There was never a confirmation. They must’ve kept it quiet.”

“How convenient,” Colby scoffs. “Guess that little rat of yours isn’t as helpful as we all thought.”

“Guys,” Y/N stops them, her eyes still flickering over to the corner where her old friend stands. “He’s here. He’s signed. Fighting over who knows what isn’t going to change it.”

“I haven’t worked my ass off for the past ten years just for him to waltz back in here and try to take all the glory,” Colby says angrily. “I looked up to that asshole once upon a time. But he’s hurt too many people I care about and shit on this company for far too long. He doesn’t get to just come back and act like he’s helped build this into what it is today.”

Y/N watched the anger rise in Colby like a tide he couldn’t hold back. His fists were clenched, jaw tight. She knew this part of him well — not the performer, but the friend who felt things too deeply and hated when people he loved got hurt.

“I know,” she said gently. “Trust me, I know. But we can’t change that he’s back. All we can control is what we do from here.”

Colby looked at her, then at Joe. He opened his mouth to say something, but the roar of the crowd from the arena still echoed faintly through the concrete halls, and it was enough to make him pause. Instead, he just nodded — not in agreement, but in understanding.

Joe took a slow breath beside them, his voice low. “What do you want to do, Y/N?”

“I want to breathe,” she whispered. “I need to clear my head before I do something stupid. Like confront him while my heart’s still racing.”

Colby moved in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Then we’ll get you out of here. He’s doing his welcome-back rounds with the suits and the veterans. He won’t notice if you slip away.”

Y/N’s head nods along with his words, her mind telling her to walk away, but she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. The man she once loved more than anything in the world is standing just a mere few feet away. He’s surrounded by executives and legends and people who used to mean something to them both. He looked a little older, a little worn around the edges, but those eyes — they were the same.

And then suddenly they were looking right at her.

Not for long. Just a second. Barely more than a blink.

But it was enough.

Her chest tightened as a thousand memories flooded her all at once — late nights in hotel rooms, bruised knuckles and whispered promises, the warmth of his hoodie after a long match, and the bitter sound of silence when he was gone.

“Y/N,” Colby said again, his voice lower this time, more urgent.

Joe gently touched her elbow. “Let’s go. You don’t have to do this here.”

She nodded before she even realized she had. Her body moved before her brain caught up, letting them guide her out of the hallway and down a quieter corridor. Away from the crowd. Away from him.

Behind her, she swore she could feel his gaze lingering.

As they walked, they ended up in one of the smaller lounges tucked near production. Colby paced. Joe stood with his arms folded across his chest, jaw tense.

Y/N sat on a crate, elbows on her knees, trying to regulate her breathing.

“He was going to walk over,” Joe said. “I saw it in his eyes.”

Colby let out a humorless laugh. “Not on my watch.”

“He didn’t look angry,” she murmured, eyes distant. “He just… looked. Like he wasn’t sure if I was real.”

“Yeah, well, he does have a habit of leaving people behind and forgetting they exist,” Colby snapped.

Y/N shot him a look.

He sighed. “Sorry. That was too far.”

Joe finally spoke again. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. If I open that box, I don’t know what’ll come out.”

Colby crouched in front of her, resting his arms on his knees. “We’ve got you. No matter what happens.”

“I know,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “I just… I really thought I was done with this part of my life.”

“You were,” Joe said gently. “Until he stepped back in.”

Y/N leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t want him to talk to me.”

“Then he won’t,” Colby said, without hesitation. “We’ll make sure of it.”

There was a pause. Then Y/N let out a shaky breath. “But what if I do? What if… some part of me still wants to hear what he has to say?”

Colby didn’t answer right away. His throat bobbed.

“You don’t have to decide that tonight,” he finally said. “He’s here. He’s not going anywhere. And neither are we.”

Y/N looked at him — really looked at him — and for a second, she forgot about Phil.

That’s when Joe’s phone begins to buzz. Each one right after the other in rapid succession. He sighed and pulled it out of his pocket, reading the screen before glancing at the two of them. “It’s Galina ,” he muttered. “She’s got the kids tonight. I should call her back.”

Y/N gave him a soft smile. “Go. We’ll be okay.”

He hesitated for a second, looking between her and Colby — clearly reluctant to leave, but trusting them. “You sure?”

“Promise,” she said gently.

Joe nodded and stepped out of the lounge, pulling the door closed behind him.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

But it wasn’t comfortable either.

Y/N kept her eyes on the floor for a moment, then finally glanced up at Colby. “You don’t have to hover. I’m not going to go running down the hallway after him or anything.”

Colby’s mouth quirked at the corner, but his voice was soft. “I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?”

His brow furrowed at the question, caught off guard by its sincerity. For a moment he didn’t answer — just looked at her the way he always did when he was deciding whether to lie or not.

He didn’t.

“Because when I saw your face back there… it scared the shit out of me.”

Y/N blinked.

“You looked like you saw a ghost. Or like you’d been hit by a truck and were trying to pretend you were fine. And I just—” He rubbed a hand across his jaw, suddenly restless. “I’ve seen you hurt before. In matches, on the road, after bad bookings. I’ve seen you furious. I’ve seen you drunk off your ass in the middle of nowhere crying about a botched promo. But I’ve never seen you like that.”

Y/N’s chest tightened again.

She looked down, twisting the rings on her fingers. “I didn’t know it was going to affect me like that.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me neither.”

She glanced up again, and this time his eyes didn’t move.

They held hers.

And for a moment — just one — the weight of everything else melted away. The buzz of the arena. The ghost of a man standing fifty feet down the hallway. Even the sound of Joe’s voice echoing outside the door disappeared.

It was just them.

Y/N felt the heat first. In her cheeks, in her throat. That flicker of something she hadn’t dared name before. Not with Colby. Not after everything else.

But it was there.

Undeniable.

She broke the silence first, her voice quieter than before. “Colby…”

He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t back away either. “I’m not going to push you,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I just need you to know… I’ve got you. No matter what happens with him. No matter how complicated it gets. You’re not alone.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She could feel herself teetering on the edge of something.

Colby’s hand drifted toward hers — not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

And she wanted to reach out. Wanted to close the gap.

But not tonight.

Not with Phil still echoing in her chest like a heartbeat she thought she’d buried.

So she looked at him — really looked at him — and whispered, “Thank you.”

Colby nodded, the air thick between them.

“I meant it,” he said. “We’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere.”

And for once, she believed him.

96 notes · View notes

kandyscorner · 1 day ago

Note

Great! Because there is nothing I love more than Dick Grayson and his roommate that sometimes get it on (basically friends with benefits). It's very much best friends by day, lovers by night just trying to get through the stress of living. Maybe they're both cops or she's an attorney who works closely with the detective unit so they're around each other a lot. That's kinda how it started, they both were new to Bludhaven and needed a place to stay and ended up rooming together. They've got such a good flow and routine, very much in sync, and sex kinda just fills in whatever gap is left over. Anyways, can I request kinda the first time they blur that line? The high tension, the subtle touches, that shy first kiss testing the waters, then the flood damn breaking, and then the nervous "what do we do now" when they just finished with the best sex they've ever had?

So this is a little bit different. I did hang on heavy with the sex kind of just filled in the gaps, even though its their first hookup. Also my first smut ever, so be merciful with me, y'all. also my first Dick Grayson fic which I think is a little funny. Anyways!

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (technically theirs birth control), lots of uses of the words cunt and cock, Reader is female and has a vagina.

If there is something else I should add to the warnings let me know!

-----

Long week to an end and an even longer case closed. You weren't even a detective but it had piled up enough legal work to drain you, it didn't help that a certain black and blue vigilante was the producer of evidence. The court loved putting a fight up against that.

All though, you had to applaud Dick for how he, as the lead detective on the case, managed to alter the integrity of the evidence on his work and not Nightwing’s alone.He could sway any jury with his certified Pretty Boy face, or just about any judge for that matter.

Ethically, something like that would normally bother you but you knew Dick. He was a good detective and an even better person to boot. You knew he wouldn’t lie about the facts of the case.

It didn’t matter anymore anyway. The case was closed and the bad guy was behind bars for his crimes. You could let it go.

The moment you have the door open you're kicking your shoes off, letting them flip where they land, and dropping your bag and jacket with little decorum. You can hear Dick puttering around in the kitchen, can smell something good and can only hope he’s not burning down the place.

You walk past the kitchen in lethargic steps and are greeted by the ever smiling face of Dick Grayson.

“There you are, pretty.” He says, ever the flirt. “How was work?”

“Shower” is how you respond with what little energy you can muster before you're drifting down to the bathroom. Your feet ached from being in heels all day and your shoulders felt like they were going to get stuck scrunched from the tension.

You take a much longer than necessary hot shower, trying to will your nerves to forget about the work day. Once you're done, you're shuffling back into the kitchen, clad in fuzzy socks, a T-shirt you're sure is Dick’s and shorts probably not good for mixed company.

“What are you burning?” You ask Dick, settling a hip against the counter as you towel off your hair. You watch his eyes drag up the bare skin of your legs before pausing at your shirt.

“I can’t believe you. You don’t even listen to The Black Canary.” He sounds slightly miffed about it and drifts closer to tug at the hem of the shirt, knuckle skimming your thigh. You ignore the goosebumps that form on your skin there.

“Shouldn't leave your clothes laying around then, Dickie. Free claim after two days in the clean laundry pile.” You tell him, gesturing to the haphazard clothing piled on the accent chair in the living room.

Between your job and his two jobs, laundry was the bane of your existence. A deal was made instead: if anyone was doing laundry, collect anything dirty and wash it, leaving the clean pile to be sorted, maybe, eventually.

He rolls his eyes and his hand leaves you to move back to a pot on the stove, stirring whatever it contains.

“What are you burning?” You repeat your earlier question.

“I’m not burning anything, pretty. I’m cooking.”

“You say that like you didn’t almost destroy our toaster making toast.” You say moving close to the actually good smelling food. His hand reaches out to pinch you for the comment and you pout at him when you fail to maneuver away.

“That was one time, don’t hold it against me.”

“Your favorite food is cereal.”

“That’s not related to this.” He guffs before he’s nudging you against the counter. He presses into your space with a teasing grin and all you can do is arch your brow in challenge. If he wanted you to move, he could ask. He opens the cabinet next to your head and pulls out two bowls.

Bowls set on the counter on either side of you, he keeps you cornered there like he’s tempting you into something and you just stare. It doesn’t take long before your stares become a staring contest, eyes narrowing and widening as they start to dry.

Never one to be beat by Dick Grayson, your hands move slowly. Drifting up and settling on his chest, you let them smooth down his shirt before you're sneaking a finger under to scratch at the skin of his hip bone.

He blinks, eyes dropping to your hand before you pull back to poke at his ribs.

“I win,” you declare but your victory isn’t much because Dick is still staring at your hand. You snap your fingers and he’s glancing back up at you.

“You still haven’t told me what you made for dinner.” You tell him trying to draw him back from whatever dazed place he had gone.

“Right, it’s Alfred’s recipe. Don't worry I called him while I was cooking…”

****

Dinner is had in a mild silence, occasionally sharing stories of the day. The only thing Dick had for work was witnessing the case you had been covering. The rest of his day was lounging. It was why he had actually made dinner for you. Proof he could be a “House husband” given the opportunity, or so he said. You rolled your eyes at him before collecting and washing the dishes.

He worked beside you, putting the leftovers away and shuttering you away from the dishes once he was done.

“I’ve gotta do my due diligence, Sweet thing. Go lay on the couch.” Usually you would put up more of a fight but your feet really did hurt. So you left him at the sink to face plant into the couch.

It doesn't take very long for him to join you, bending your legs at the knee to settle underneath your shins. He takes to massaging your socked feet in a way that has you groaning into the couch cushions. You can hear him laughing at you but you don't have it in you to care.

Especially not after he settles his free hand on the back of your bare thigh. It moves up and down slowly as he pauses on your foot massage to start the show you two had been watching together. You try to remind yourself to breathe when his distracted hand stops moving just below the crease where your bum and thigh meet. It has you turning your head to glance at him but you find him still focused on the TV.

The show starts and he goes back to his massaging, hand slipping away from your ass to massage your calf.

“Jesus woman, how are your legs so tense?” you snort before you turn around onto your back, legs shifting in his lap.

“That's on wearing heels all day. Although, my whole body's tense. I feel like I can't relax.” you say stretching out your body. Dick’s hand moves from your knee up your thigh before pausing.

“Poor thing.” he coos and it makes you want to kick him. You sit up instead, pinching at his arm.

“Ow! What was that for? I was sympathizing.” he pouts at you.

“No, you were not, you were being condescending. I know. Your life is so much more stressful than mine.”

“You make me sound so heartless, pretty.” you move your hand to pinch him again but he catches you, moving your hand to his shoulder.

“Repayment on the massage?” he asks, his other hand still settled on your thigh.

“What's the magic word?” he smirks at your request

“Please, pretty please with a cherry on top.”

“We’re out of cherries. Someone ate them all.” you deadpan. His smirk widens to a grin.

“I had to make sure I could still tie the steams with my tongue. I can if you wanted to know,” he boasts with a wink.

“You’re terrible,” you murmur before slipping your fingers under his collar to massage his shoulder.

He groans the same way you had and you wonder if he felt the same way you did. Your legs shift trying to settle yourself and his hand tightens against your thigh, skin dimpling slightly. His shoulders slowly relax as you press into a knot, his eyes sliding shut with a wince.

“Sorry,” you say quietly as you watch him. His hand flexes on your leg before he’s opening his eyes to meet yours.

“Don’t. You're perfect.” he says lowly and it has you shifting again. His other hand meets your other leg and he holds them together.

“Stop that,” he tells you and you do, pausing even in your massage. His hold loosens and he’s skimming up and down your thigh again watching you as your fingers linger in the collar of his shirt. You feel something akin to electric shock, something not entirely unfamiliar with Dick, when his hand moves higher.

Your eyes linger across his face, at his blue eyes and perfect lashes, strong cheekbones and jawline, and his perfectly plush lips that you've thought about too much when you’re alone in your bedroom. His hand hits the edge of your shorts and pauses. You meet his eyes again, and find a question.

You break your eye contact with him and pull your hand from his collar.

“I should get the other side, yeah?” you ask quietly and his hand leaves your leg.

“If you want to,” he mumbles and you think he sounds a little distraught about it. It makes you smile as you pull one of your legs from his lap and readjust yourself to straddle him.

Your eyes glimmer as you look down at him, his eyes wide with shock. His hands hover over your hips like he's suddenly unsure of his own charged touching. Knees pressing into the couch, you settle onto his lap.

You let your hand slide under the collar of his shirt on the other side. Fingers massaging into the skin. He groans again, head falling back against the couch. Between that and the pretty view of his neck, you're shifting your hips again, down with more intention.

His hands finally settle on you. One on your hip and the other squeezing at your thigh again like he can't decide if he's going to pull you down or throw you off.

“Is this better, Dick?” You question fingers pressing harder into a knot. His head draws up to smirk at you.

“Should've known you were a vixen.” he says, all teasing again. It has you sitting forward grinding your hips down against him as you feel him hardening under you. You press into the knot on his shoulder harder and it has him tipping forward, tucking his head into your neck.

“Don't be mean to me, pretty. I've had a very long month,” you feel more than hear him complain against your skin. Despite his words, his hand on your hip widens across your lower back and he's pushing you down into his lap.

A startled sigh leaves you as he starts leaving gentle wet kisses against the skin of your neck. You follow his lead and grind your hips, his hard length providing the perfect friction that leaves quiet noises from your lips.

Dick’s hips press up with little motivation and you think he's smiling into your neck, kissing and sucking, no doubt leaving marks for later. His hand leaves your back only to slip up under his your shirt to squeeze at the skin of your hip, tummy, and back, moving upwards from there.

The hand on your thigh moves up, slipping under the bottom hem of your shorts before he finds your panties at the bend of your hip and thigh. His thumb teases there before barely slipping under and staying there.

With a better grip on you, he's pushing you down as he bucks his hips up. It has a keening noise leaving you while he pants into your skin. Your hand tucked under his collar slides further under to press him closer, the other grabs at his bicep trying to ground yourself.

“How am I the tease in this situation?” You pant out as his hand under your shirt slides up, thumb brushing against the side of your boob. His teeth makes an appearance at your comment, ghosting against the space below your ear, and it makes you shudder.

He pulls back to look at you and you wonder what you look like. He's a picture himself, all flushed skin and dilated eyes, lips glossy from his escapade at your neck.

His hands grip at your hips, slowing your unconscious rocking that elicits a whine from low in your throat. Usually you'd be embarrassed with the way you've become so needy. But Dick’s hands on you were doing something, you wanted him to keep touching and squeezing the way he was.

“Wearing those little shorts,” his thumb slips from where it was tucked under the hem of your underwear to tug at the fabric of your shorts, “with my shirt. You are a tease.”

You roll eyes for the umpteenth time that night as you catch your breath, “if you're so upset about the shirt, you can just take it back,” you huff.

The look in Dick’s eyes turns wicked and you fear you've said the wrong thing. His hands disappear from your skin and you're suddenly blinded as he drags the fabric up and off your body.

You blink to clear your eyes and shiver at the cold air against your skin, “Dick” you snark in insult but the bite leaves you as his hands resettle on your skin, shirt thrown somewhere else.

“That's my name, don't wear It out,” he says it like he's in a trance, instead of the usual fanfare he says the statement.

His eyes track down your body, from your face to your neck to your breast's and down to where he grips at your waist. It makes you squirm. You're not usually self conscious about your body but Dick’s a player, or at least he was when you first became roommates, bringing girls around all the time.

He's seen plenty of female bodies and you're sure he knows what he likes. You don't want whatever this is to stop because he decided you didn't fit that box.

“Can't you sit still for three seconds?” he says while you squirm. His hands on your waist tighten and he's pulling you forward in his lap from where you had leaned back. All your worries leave you as he starts mouthing the other side of your neck.

One of his hands smooths up your spin to press you closer. His other hand comes to cup your breast. He lazily gropes, thumb slipping over your nipple. It makes a stunted breath escape you, body naturally pressing closer to him. Your fingers curl into his hair and you tug.

Suddenly, you're in the air, a yelp escaping you as you cling to Dick, then you’re settled with your back on the couch. He ruts against you as his kisses become a sloppy trail down your throat to your clavicle and down to the top of your breasts.

You shiver at the spittle cooling against your skin and it has you grumbling.

“I just showered, Dickie.” Your words come out as a sigh as he sucks a bruise to the top of your breast and ruts into you once before he settles his chin on your sternum to look at you with half lidded eyes.

“Want me to stop?” he asks and he presses a kiss to the inside of the boob closest to his mouth, it turns into a nip that has you tug his hair again. It doesn't deter him, only makes him smirk.

“No, just don't make such a mess.” it's a dumb request and you know it. If this keeps going the way it is (and you hope does), Dick slobbering on your chest will only be a mild issue.

“Course,” he teases, “my bad” and then he's licking back up the trail of wet he left. You shiver and gasp as he bites down at the junction of your neck and shoulder. He laves over it with his tongue and pulls back to grin down at you.

“Better, pretty?”

“You're an asshole.” He laughs loudly at your insult but it dies fast once your hand slips up under his shirt. You smooth up his chest to his pecs before drawing your nails down lightly all the way to his happy trail.

You feel him shudder, body slipping lower against you and he whines, actually whines. It makes you giddy, a pleased grin working itself across your lips.

“What's wrong, cat got your tongue?” you coo.

He doesn't answer, just pulls back from you to tug his shirt off. You stare, not that it's a new view. Dick didn't like wearing shirts if he didn't have to(and you usually don’t stop yourself from staring). What's new is the very prominent bulge in his sweats.

Your view is suddenly interrupted by his head as he ducks back down again.

“Hey, I was- oh, okay,” you cut off your own complaints as he wraps his lip around your nipple. He sucks, tongue flicking, and it makes your back arch, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him there. He sucks hard once and pulls off with a pop.

“What's that? Cat got your tongue?” he throws your words back at you with a cheeky grin.

“you little- fuck!” your spin curves up harshly as he dives back in for your other nipple, no pleasant sucking and lapping, only teeth lightly rolling the bud as his eyes watch your face. He lets go and you slump against the couch.

He tucks an arm around your waist, dragging your limp form back into an arch and tugs one of your thighs up to hitch it on his hip and he starts a slow roll against you.

His biting is replaced by soft kisses against the bud, tongue poking out to soothe the ache from his teeth.

“Sorry, baby,” he breathes against your skin, “you just don't know when to shut up sometimes.”

“I hate you sometimes,” you breathe out at a slightly harsher roll of his hips. His teeth skim over your skin like a threat and you shut your mouth. He kisses your chest in thanks. You throw an arm over your eyes because you do not want to see the smug smile you're sure he’s wearing.

His kisses stop and he’s no longer humping against you. You think you have a moment to breathe but then his mouth reappears under a breast, pressed to your ribs. Then a lick next to your belly button and a suck at your hip bone. You think he’s going to hook his fingers to your shorts and pull them down but instead he’s pressing your leg he had hitched to the side, spreading your thighs.

His kissing skips over the shorts to trail up your other leg, pulling it over his shoulder. You peek your eyes from where they were hiding to find him already watching you as he presses a long kiss to your knee. He moves down an inch and repeats it, then another inch and again.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice pitchier than you'd like. You realize too late that the way he was looking at you was a goad, just to get you to speak again. His teeth sink into the meat of your thigh, close enough to the place you really want him that it has you clenching. A gasped moan leaves you and you feel him smile as he licks at the bite.

“Just testing you” he murmurs before he's nosing at the edge of your shorts.

“Fuck, I can smell you, baby.” he mumbles. His tone has your leg fighting against his hold, trying to close your thighs. He squeezes it and presses it down more. “Stop that,” he kisses where your clit is hidden under fabric, “Please,” he adds.

You stare at him, feeling so terribly unsure of what to do with yourself. You don't think you’d seen Dick look like this before, an edge to him that should make you want to run but it just makes you want to fight a little to see what he’ll do.

So you do. Dick is stronger than you, he always has been and probably always will be but he called you a tease. You’ll be a tease. You push your leg up against his hand. Your hips press back and you use your arms to help pull yourself away from him, scooting back on the couch. You keep a teasing smile on your lips, so Dick knows this is for fun and not because you're uncomfortable.

His head tips as he watches you, something dark in his eyes that makes your breath catch.

“I said please,” he sounds disappointed and you almost apologize on gut instinct but you never get the chance. His hands wrap around your hips and he tugs you right back into place, fingers hooking into your shorts and dragging them and your panties down, knees knocking as he does so.

“Why can't you just listen for once?” it's almost a gutted question that you'd worry about if he wasn't prying your legs apart like a mad man.

He doesn't wait for an answer or a sound from you before he's dipping down to lick a wet strip from your hole up to your clit. A startled gasp leaves you and your hand shoots out, tugging his hair.

He grapples with your hand, pulling it from his head and pinning it to your belly as he sucks softly on your clit in a way that makes your hips twitch. He sets a slow process sucking on your clit before dipping his tongue into you shallowly and then licking right back up to your clit only to repeat.

Your free hand grips onto the back couch cushion as the warmth grows low in your belly. Your thighs squeeze periodically around Dick’s head but he seems undeterred by the pressure. If anything it spurs him on, low groans escaping him as he presses his face more into your cunt, nose nudging your clit when he tongue-fucks you.

You arch and squirm, gasps and whines leaving you. Dick’s hand not pinning yours moves from where it was holding the fat of your hip to squeeze your boob. It's not until he pinches at the nipple, the same he teethed at, that your whimpering, free hand smacking down at his wrist to stop the sudden pain, in spite of the way it made your hips buck.

His hand moves quickly and in your sex addled mind you make out that he had set a trap. He tugs your once free hand down to meet your other on your belly and suddenly your limbs are trapped.

It takes a moment for you to ignore the burning sensation working its way up your spine to pick up your head to meet the eyes of your capture. You understand in an instant why he trapped your wrists on your belly the way he did, arms pressing your breasts together in a pretty display just for him.

“I knew- knew you were freaky,” you barely get the words out, toes starting to curl. He gives your clit a harsh suck that makes you cry out before letting it go.

“And here you are letting me. Doesn't seem like you're mad about it.” He dives back in with a renewed fervor, that has you trying to buck up against his face. His free hand not holding your wrists returns to your boob's and takes to pinching at your nipples.

You whine at the pleasure-pain coursing through your body. The edge of something tipping its way into your body, cunt clenching around nothing, as he sucks on your clit.

“Dick, please, it's- oh my god! Oh my-” your words morph into a choked moan as the wave of pleasure becomes too much. Your body fights against him, trying to thrash out of his hold unsuccessfully and he doubles down his efforts in a way that has you silently crying out, air gone from your lungs.

It takes a minute before he starts easing up on you and your gasping for breath. He gives one finally lick up your cunt and presses a kiss to your clit before finally letting go of your body. Your body twitches while you catch your breath with your eyes closed.

You feel shifting on the couch and then you feel his breath on your cheek.

“Hey there, pretty.” He says softly and you will yourself to open your eyes. Your breath is gone again. Those stupid gorgeous blue eyes staring at you and those stupid lips pulled into a smirk and covered in you. You think you should be grossed out but honestly you've never wanted to kiss Dick Grayson more in your life.

You don't entirely know how you've reached this point, you spread bare on your shared couch with your essence on his face. You could argue that kissing is hardly crossing a line when he just had his face buried between your thighs but you're not entirely sure how he would feel about it.

“You still with me?” He asks and you barely hear it past your ringing ears. You blame it on the post orgasm haze for not thinking, not asking but you curl your hand around his neck, tugging him down and you kiss him. Nothing dramatic, not a makeout, just a simple kiss. You pull back to lick at your lips, finding the taste of yourself there.

“Do you always make such a mess when you eat?” You manage out. He laughs and you relax.

“Fuck off, sweet thing,” he leans in and kisses you back with more intention than you had. He tips your head to press in deeper and you slip your tongue into it which he hums happily about as he returns the favor.

He pulls back just to say, “should've told me I could kiss you” before kissing you again.

You trail your now free hands across his bare chest as you kiss but it doesn't take long for your hand to creep lower, fingers dipping into the waistband of his pants. His hips cant forward at the touch and he's pulling away from you, a string of spit still connecting your lips that has you wrinkling your nose.

“What're you doing?” He asks, eyes staring into your own.

“What'd you think I'm doing?” You finally dip your hand into his waistband and find the base of him, hand wrapping around it firmly. His eyes squeeze shut and he takes a shuttered breath.

You slowly, loosely slide your hand up his cock, squeezing at the tip. You think he whimpers as his hips buck forward and he hides his face in your neck again. You go back to a slow lazy stroke of him. you take the time to mouth at his neck where you could reach, returning the favor of what your neck will look like tomorrow.

“Want you in my mouth, Dickie. Can I do that? Will you let me?” You whisper into his ear and he groans, bucking into your lazy strokes more. He finally pulls back, kissing your jaw then your cheek.

“no,” he says gruffly and you're frowning.

“That's not fair, I let you put your mouth on me.” You complain and he quiets you with a kiss.

“later, you can later but I need to be inside, let me be inside, wanna cum inside you.” He pleads against your skin.

“That's not very safe. Trying to knock me up?” You tease but you also mean the question genuinely. He groans again before shaking his head.

“you're on birth control, been on it for a year and a half. Now please-” you tug on his hair to make him look at you, hand stilling on his cock.

“How do you know about my birth control?” he winces, at your tugging or your question you're not sure.

“You have an alarm set for the same time every night. I was curious, so I may have looked up your medical records. You have a great heart by the way.” You tug his hair harder and then smack his shoulder

“Richard Grayson, that is a HIPPA violation, what's wrong with you? I should have you arrested!” Your hand pulls out of his pants so both your hands can smack at his chest.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I really was just curious.” You glare at him before you think back to the few times your alarm had gone off and you had ignored it. Dick would tell you to take care of it, that it could be important. The asshole made sure you took your birth control without telling you he knew it was birth control.

“You suck,” you grumble. Unfortunately, he was right about bringing up the birth control thing.

“You're clean right?” You ask because the last thing you need is an STD from your roommate. His eyes widen and he's nodding fervently.

“Got tested after my last hookup and that was months ago.” He looks far too giddy about this.

“Fine, you can cum inside,” you say it begrudgingly like you're doing him a favor despite the way your cunt squeezes at the thought. the minute the words leave your mouth his lips are back on yours and he's kissing you with renewed energy. He pulls back with muttered “thank you’s"

His hands work under your knees and he's pushing them up over his shoulder. He grinds his still clothed cock up against your cunt, the fabric friction making you wiggle uncomfortably.

“Dick,” you say his name in complaint.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your knee before he's shimming down his now stained sweats. You sit up to glance at him between your legs. While you had felt him with your hand you wanted to see him

His cock was pretty, just like the rest of him. A reasonable girth but you could see that his strength lied in his length and the curve of it. You’ll definitely feel him against your cervix. You clench at the thought.

A glob of spit lands on his cock, some of it sliding off and onto your cunt before he’s wrapping his hand around himself and tugging.

“That's gross,” you mutter, still staring at the way he strokes himself. Dick chuckles to himself.

“You just asked if you could have it in your mouth but it's gross that I spit on it.” he grins

“That's not the same thing ‘sides you spit on me too.” his eyes drop from your face to look down where the spit had slid off his cock. He lets go of himself to palm at your cunt, hand collecting spit and slick before wrapping it around him again, tugging just a bit hard. Your hips buck against his hand and you have to bite down a complaint when his hand leaves you.

“Better, baby?” he groans.you watch his face, the way his brows pinch and his mouth drops open as he gives himself a particularly harsh tug. He meets your eye with a cocky grin.

“You know, mess is good for this.” he tells you, “Getting sweaty and spit everywhere is part of the fun. Plus when you're wet enough, like how you got when you came so pretty on my tongue, it makes it easy to just slip,” you feel the head of his cock press into your hole and it makes you clench at the intrusion, “right in there.” he groans.

Dick takes his time working himself into your cunt, pulling back slowly before pushing an extra inch into you. It made you whine, wanting the whole of him to just press into you, but he was set on teasing you. Hands holding tight to your hips, stopping you from even attempting to buck into him. He cooed at you the entire time like that would make it better.

“Doing so good for me, baby”

“gonna take this cock like a good girl”

“Your so fucking tight and wet, could stay here forever.”

It's when he finally bottoms out that you find you were right about being able to feel him against your cervix, he grinds against the spot inside you and it nearly makes you choke, wiggling and clawing at his wrists at your hips.

“It’s too deep, Dick. Can feel it.” you gasp and his hand smooths from your hip, undeterred by your hand, to press low on your belly.

“Right here?” he hums and you arch at the pressure. The jerk has the audacity to laugh at you before pulling out, just the tip sitting at your entrance. You flinch as brings the head of his cock to slap against your clit.

“Don't worry. We might get you to feel it even deeper.” he says before he groans, pushing himself all the way back into you to pull back and repeat it. His slow, measured pace is gone as he speeds up, hands gripping your hips and thighs to push into you harder and harder.

There’s nothing for you to do but hold on for dear life, moaning and whining with each brush of his hips to the back of your thighs. Your mind is barely conscious of the lewd sounds over taking the living room. The smack of skin and your own choked sounds are drowned out by the way Dick sounds and looks.

His tan skin flushed and sweaty, his head dipped watching where you connect like it's the world's greatest invention. His sounds are held back, you can hear it. His own moans barely reach his throat before he’s tamping it down to thrust harder into you. He does manage to mutter, to you or the universe you couldn't tell.

“Needed this, so fucking tight.” it's all under his breath but between that and the way he’s rutting into, it has you calling out his name.

“Dick, please,” his eyes snap back up to you and his thrusting slows to a stop half in. It makes you try to fight his hold on your hips to slide more of him in

“Why are you stopping? Don't stop, please, please, Dick” you could almost cry at his halted movement.

Suddenly he's moving, sliding more in and bending over you and folding you in half, knees nearly pressed to your chest. You choke on air, the previous threatened tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Dick moves slowly, hips barely pulling back to grind back into you.

“deeper?” he asks and you think he meant to be cocky about it but his voice was just too broken for it to land.

“Yea, yea, shit,” You barely manage and he’s bearing down on you more to kiss you. He keeps you folded like that as his grinds turn back into thrusts. It has your legs shaking as your second orgasm starts to creep up on you.

You can barely focus on kissing Dick back with the sounds leaving you but that doesn't stop him and he continues to kiss at your lips and face. You gasp against him at a particularly hard thrust, hands clamoring to dig your nails into his back.

“Can feel you in my fucking throat, Dick,” you choke out just holding on, each drag of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you. Dick grunts and his thrusts pick up speed as he drops his face to your chest

“God, please tell me your close, baby, please,” he mumbles against your skin, fingers tightening hard enough around your hips you're sure it will bruise. His thrusts slowly grow less calculated, hips grinding before he goes back to thrusting again, like he can't decide what he wants.

“Close, I’m close. Need,” you try but you can't find what word you're looking for. Turns out you don't have to. Dick’s hand manages its way in between you and just as his thumb slips into circles over your clit, he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your entire body tenses and you see stars at the triple stimulation. You tighten around him as choked moans escape you. He groans around your skin at the sensation and then he’s sitting back up right, no longer folding you over. Your legs slide from his shoulders to settle around his hips. You barely hear his words, head floaty and somewhere else.

“Did so good for me, pretty, squeezed me so tight. Just a little bit longer.” you blink trying to register his words before he's sliding out of you and driving back in. You gasp but don't fight as he sets a quick, erratic pace. It doesn’t take long before he's tipping over, pressing his lips to yours as he practically whimpers into your mouth. You moan at the warm feeling as he fills you up.

His hips drag against yours a few times before he stops entirely pressed against you. The sudden silence is eerie as you two try to catch your breath. Dick recovers faster than you, pressing soft kisses to your face and the soon to be bruised skin of your neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbles quietly before he’s lifting his head high enough to meet your eye. You try to focus your energy on him. His hand comes up, presses sweaty strands of hair from your face and you sigh at the gentle touch.

“You okay?” He asks and it's only after his hand settles at the side of your neck that you realize he’s feeling at your pulse. You curl a weak hand around his wrist and smile.

“No, you killed me,” you joke as your hand slides up and down his forearm, “I hate you. You're too perfect, Dickie. Handsome and good at sex. unbelievable.” You add as your eyes slide closed. You can hear him laughing quietly.

He shifts, starting to slide out of you and you twitch, hands reaching to stop him, “wait” you say. He pauses hesitantly.

“I don't know how to clean cum off of upholstery.” You tell him blinking up at him and he snorts at your phrasing.

“Yeah, Okay,” he leans over the front of the couch and picks up his discarded shirt from the ground. He effortlessly picks up your hips, keeping you both connected and slides the shirt underneath. That’s not exactly what you meant but you suppose the shirt could go in the laundry.

His hands return to your hips and rub soothing circles into the skin. He grins down at you, “better?”

You flush at his teasing tone, in spite of him just fucked you to high heaven. All you can bring yourself to do is nod. Then he’s finally pulling out of you, your cunt spasm at the sudden emptiness, pushing out his cum. You watch as Dick settles back on his heels to stare down at it. You instinctively tip your knees inward, trying to hide the scene but he gently presses your legs up to stare some more.

“Pretty sight, baby. I could get used to it.” He murmurs and meets your eye. You understand what he’s saying, the offer, the request. If you want to do this again, I’d be happy to.

You nod at the implication, chin tucked, “okay.”

“Thanks, sweet thing,” he presses a kiss to your knee and clambers off the couch and disappears down the hallway. You close your eyes, a sleepiness surging at your mind. You don’t really want to sleep if only because of the stickiness between your legs.

You flinch at the feel of warm, wet fabric pressing between your thighs. You hadn’t heard dick return but there he was with a wet rag, sweat pants back on, gently wiping you down. The rag swipes over your folds and your legs try to close again at the unwanted stimulation.

“Almost done,” he practically coos at you. He finishes wiping and tugs the shirt from underneath you, wrapping everything up in a ball. He slides a clean pair of panties up your legs, lifting your hips for you. He does the same thing with the shirt you had worn earlier. Tugging you up to sit and feeding your arms through the holes. You stare at him as he does, a concentrated look on his features.

Then he’s lifting you up bridal style but you barely have the energy for a gasp. He carries you to your bedroom. As he tucks you into your bed you speak up.

“You're the king of aftercare, Dickie” he smiles softly at you before he’s pressing a straw to your lips. You drink some water and settle back into the bed. After he’s settling the glass on your nightstand, he presses a kiss to your forehead and then he’s wandering back to the door.

“Dick?” He pauses and turns to look at you, leaning against the door frame. You stare at his bare chest for a second, “you can stay here if you want.”

Never mind that it’s something you want but you two crossed some sort of boundary and you don’t know how far the stretch can go.

“You sure?” He asks like he could make you uncomfortable.

“Of course, Dick,” you pause, not wanting to seem desperate, but you want him to stay, “please”

That’s all the convincing he needs before he’s shutting off the lights and climbing into bed with you. He pulls you close and you both relax into each other.

You don’t know what this new turn in your friendship could mean but you hope it doesn’t change too much. Although, you wouldn’t Dick having his way with you a few more times.

-----

Masterlist

#dick grayson x reader #Dick Grayson x reader smut #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x female!reader #nightwing x reader #kandywrites #kandyscorner

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euseokz · 1 day ago

Text

@ sungchan — why are you this shitty ? . cws : toxic behaviour . use of ‘whore’ . unprotected sex . creampie . wc : 4.2k+ . genre : angst + smut

a/n : somehow included my babyboys leehan and jaehyun because i love them very much 😛

you knew it wasn’t a good idea to agree to go out with EX-BOYFRIEND! SUNGCHAN again.

and yet, you still did.

sungchan and you didn’t break up on good terms. in fact, you thought there were very few other ways that could be worse.

it all started with you befriending leehan — or better yet, rekindling your old friendship. leehan was an old friend from your childhood, you grew up as neighbors and spent basically every hour of every day together, your parents getting along just as well with his. as kids, you’d do almost everything together. go to school, eat lunch, take after school naps, play whatever silly new game you had come up with. it was sweet really. but then you turned ten, and around that time leehan’s family moved away because of his father’s work. it hit you hard, but you both promised to survive it, dramatizing things a bit because it truly felt like you were losing a sibling by being away from each other. your parents kept in contact with his however, and once or twice a year his family would come to visit, but by then you were teens, too caught up in your own worlds to care enough to create a bond in the few days he was over, knowing you’d lose it again soon enough. you grew further apart as you aged, even more when you moved away to another city for work, already in your 20’s, full of hopes and dreams, ready to build your own path — which was when you met sungchan.

he was the friend of one of your colleagues, and you only even met him because said colleague, sohee, was throwing a little summer get-together at his house and invited a lot of people from your work who were close in age to him and that he got along with, that somehow including you. you always saw it as a pity invite, a way to try to include the new girl and not make her feel left out, sohee was nice enough to do something like that after all. you took the invite gladly either way, seeing it as an opportunity to make a new workplace friend and also just make new friends in general!

it was a good time, it was warm out as the soft summer breeze and higher temperatures came in, a guy you later learned to be named eunseok behind a small bar making cocktails, not stopping even when sohee told him to just go have fun. he seemed to like being there, keeping a bit more to himself but still having fun in his own way, talking with some people and even dancing but still keeping what seemed to be a safe distance from the more erratic part of the afternoon, that being the loud music and half-drunk people by the pool. it wasn’t a huge gather by any means, but it also wasn’t small, probably around 30 people there, apparently more than sohee even expect since, from what he told you when you walked in, some of his friends brought plus ones, not that he seemed to mind, just happy everyone was having fun.

at some point you ended up by the makeshift bar, talking with eunseok about how pretty the sky looked, hues of orange and pink glazing it as the sunset drew upon it. eunseok was funny, he had a somewhat weird humor, kinda dry maybe, but he was funny, and also cute, cute enough for you to almost muster up enough courage to ask him if he was doing anything next weekend — until sungchan showed up, and all the sudden attraction you felt towards eunseok went down the drain.

sungchan was tall, wearing only a pair of swim shorts with a big seven on the side and a pair of flip flops, water from the pool still dripping from his hair and leaving wet trails down his toned body. he didn’t notice you at first, approaching eunseok directly and asking for a beer, looking like he was in a rush to go back to wherever he came from — the pool, you assumed — until eunseok let out a small, discreet cough, ever so slightly pointing towards your direction with his head before leaning down to pick up a beer from the cooler on the floor.

“oh, i didn’t even see you there, i’m sorry” were the first words sungchan ever told you, his smile staying in place as he spoke, his eyes sparkling a little more once they laid on you, or so you thought that happened. that was the beginning of it all, a small conversation turning into you two going to a calmer corner to keep the chat going, the date you thought about having next weekend ending up being with sungchan, taking only a few more before you were officially dating.

sungchan treated you like a princess, proud to introduce you to everyone he knew, happy to do anything you asked. you genuinely thought you would marry him someday, that hopeful day never coming.

it was a couple years after you started dating that you got a call from your parents saying that leehan was now living in your city. you didn’t give it much thought, only seeing him as a childhood friend now, no space for him in your life. but then you ran into him by some weird coincidence in a coffee shop you and sungchan frequently went to. he was there by himself, sitting in a small table with his laptop and a snack. it took you a moment to register who he was, his little boy features long gone and it wasn’t like you had seen leehan recently. more out of courtesy than anything, you went to greet him, sungchan looking from afar calmly as you approached an old friend.

“the long hair suits you” you spoke as you stood by leehan’s table. he looked up at you, also confused for a second before recognizing you.

“thank you” he answered, his smile the same from when you were kids somehow, even if almost every single one of his features had matured, his smile remained the same.

you talked briefly, and what was supposed to be only a courtesy greeting transformed into a trip down memory lane, that eventually ended with him sitting with you and sungchan, both of you sharing silly stories from when you were kids all while sungchan smiled softly, listening attentively, happy to see you so excited.

you and leehan kept in contact after that, and sungchan never had any problem with it, because why would he? he had his friends, you were allowed to have yours, right? right. that thought process of his didn’t last long, however, remaining until you and leehan got closer and started spending more and more time together. you never ditched on sungchan to be with leehan, you never broke any boundaries with leehan, you were genuinely just friends, no attraction involved from either side, a simple, innocent friendship connecting you. you knew that, leehan knew that, even sungchan’s friends saw that — but he didn’t. sungchan started thinking you two were too close, too intimate, spending too much time alone. it started small, sungchan making snarky remarks whenever leehan came up in conversation, escalating to him out right being rude towards leehan whenever you all hung out. it bothered you, bothered you enough for you to even talk to eunseok, ask what he thought about it.

“you’re just friends, right? sungchan is overreacting, probably just jealous, he’ll get over it” eunseok remarked, the problem becoming that sungchan never got over it, coming to a point where you had to put your foot down.

“‘chan, you have your friends, i never questioned any of them, never doubted your relationship with them as anything more, so why are you so mad about me and leehan? we’re just friends, that’s all!” you said, agitated, the issue between you two having already been going on for far too long.

“i don’t fuck my friends, that’s the difference” sungchan answered calmly, that sort of calmness that comes before a storm. you didn’t know where that came from, all you knew was that sungchan’s words led to a massive fight between you two, one that ended with you breaking up in the heat of the moment, throwing away years spent in a relationship over a stupid issue that could be resolved over a simple, honest conversation.

sungchan tried to apologize in the weeks following the argument, saying he was completely out of his mind, admitting what he said came purely from his own insecurities, claiming that he wanted to be together again. you accepted his apology, but much to sungchan’s despair, you didn’t take him back, saying you wouldn’t allow that sort of disrespect from a partner. sungchan wasn’t pleased with that, but he took the no for an answer, leaving you alone. it wasn’t easy, you cried most nights, wondering if you did the right thing, questioning everything that led up to it. you came to terms with it at some point tho, months passing and the pain fading away with them. you heard from sungchan sometimes, even seeing him rarely, the friendship you had built with sohee and eunseok remaining even after you broke up with their friend. they didn’t think what he did or said was right, that comforting you somehow, knowing that you weren’t crazy for thinking sungchan’s actions were completely out of line. leehan never heard any of it, that becoming the first time you ever lied to him, explaining that you and sungchan broke up because you simply started growing apart.

“i liked him, you know” leehan once said, almost a year having already passed since the break up. “he treated me a bit weirdly towards the end, but he was a nice guy” leehan continued, completely unaware of how sungchan actually felt towards him and what he thought of him. you giggled, and out of instinct, you hugged leehan, the sound of autumn leaves falling against the grass of the park you were in serving as background noise when you told him how happy you were to have found him again. leehan let out a small laugh, hugging you back, admitting he too was happy you had met up again — neither of you aware sungchan was just on the other side of the street, watching as a new girl held his hand, old malicious thoughts rushing back to his head. that was the start of it all.

the start of you getting to know just how shitty your ex-boyfriend truly was.

it started small. sohee started slightly avoiding you at work, never holding up a conversation for too long, even if his genuine smile always remained, some excuse always coming up as to why he had to go. he seemed nervous around you, uncomfortable maybe, as if he was doing something wrong by even looking in your direction. you found it weird, but thought maybe he just had some other issue going on in his life that he didn’t want to talk to you about, his personal problems probably affecting his usual behaviour. then, after a few weeks, you asked when you two and eunseok could hangout again.

“oh we’re both totally busy that day, i’m sorry” sohee replied through an anxious smile.

“i didn’t mention a date tho?”

“yeah but we’ll be busy” those were sohee’s last words before he ran off, that being what triggered you to realize something was definitely going on, and most definitely not just some problem he didn’t wanna discuss with you — so you went to eunseok. you hadn’t talked to him in a while, which wasn’t odd, he rarely ever reached out first, but maybe he could tell you why sohee’s behavior had been so strange lately.

“it’s sungchan” eunseok sighed once you approached him at his favorite bar, lucking out that he was alone there on a random friday night. “he’s been saying some shitty stuff about you and saying we shouldn’t come near you. i don’t believe any of his bullshit, i don’t think sohee does either, but you know sungchan, he can be an asshole when he wants, sohee probably just doesn’t wanna cause any trouble”

“what do you mean?” you asked after a second, confused, sitting down by eunseok’s side, now even more curious about what was apparently going on.

“look, you don’t wanna know, trust me. just forget about sungchan’s stupid ass, this will blow over and things will go back to normal” that answer, as intentionally vague as it was, only left you even more interested in what was going on so, after some more questions that almost made eunseok get up and leave to avoid problems on either side, he finally caved in.

“sungchan…” he started, sighing before proceeding “he’s been telling everyone that you cheated on him with leehan, that you two had something going on beyond just a friendship i guess”

“what?” you asked, more speechless than anything, incredulous that this was all coming back after so long.

“yeah, at least between us he has been calling you a whore, saying you were never worth his time” eunseok added, this time unable to lift his head, staring straight into the glass cup between his fingers. “if it matters, as i said, i don’t believe any of it, and i don’t think anyone else does. i know he’s my friend, but sungchan is just something else… not a bad person, just bad with relationships. he’s never gone this far tho” eunseok finished, blatantly trying to apologize for his friend’s behaviour. it didn’t work, if anything it only made you angry, so you left without another word, heading home before doing something stupid.

after that you started avoiding sohee at work, not because you were mad at him, but so you wouldn’t say something out of impulse that would just worsen the situation. for weeks you thought about what to do, how to get back at sungchan, but eventually you gave up. it was like eunseok said that one night, sungchan is an asshole, so you decided he wasn’t worth your time.

as time passed, more weeks and then months going by, things eventually got back to normal. sohee apologized when he found out what eunseok told you, which led to you three finally having your friendship again. some of sungchan’s closest friends also came to you later on saying they didn’t believe any word of what he said, one of them that you were never particularly close with, wonbin, even pointing out that the other few people sungchan talked about the matter with also never believed him. weirdly enough that made you feel relieved, knowing that sungchan’s credibility was below zero. from that point on you kept living your life as you intended, working, meeting new people, enjoying yourself without caring about some stupid ex-boyfriend you had. you even met someone new, jaehyun, a guy leehan met through a friend and that was just the sweetest. you weren’t actually dating, only going out here and there, getting to know each other at a slow pace, but it was nice to be reassured that not every guy sucked, especially since leehan really backed up jaehyun, saying he was truly a good guy, and his opinion mattered to you, so you took it as a good sign. all in all, things were going well — until sungchan reached out.

“can we meet up?” you read on your phone, the contact it came from named simply sungchan, no longer ‘channie with two heart emojis after it. you didn’t even know why you kept his number, didn’t even remember you still had it in fact, and something about it all felt off. why would he text you? why would he want to meet up? and most of all, why did you reply with a “yes, when?”.

you felt dumb, but after exchanging a few messages, two days later you found yourself ringing the doorbell to sungchan’s apartment. he opened the door without saying a word, stepping aside so you could come in. it looked different, most of the same furniture but placed in a different manner, the smaller decorations on shelves and such almost completely different, the frames that once had pictures of you two now showing him with another girl you didn’t know.

a few moments passed as you looked around, only able to see the small entryway and open kitchen to living room space, his bedroom tucked away behind it’s closed door, his bathroom too. it was dark, only the moon’s light extending through the space and somehow brightening it up enough for you to notice the small details. you had always liked that his windows were big, not only because you spent so many nights wrapped up with him on his couch with the room just as dim as it was in that moment, but also because when you woke up in his bed you had a perfect view through his living room windows. you shook your head slightly though, focusing on the present, a movement to attempt to let go of old, now basically meaningless, memories.

“why did you want me to come here?” you asked, finally looking at sungchan, his tall figure standing just a couple feet behind you.

“why did you come?” he questioned back, looking serious, which made you scoff. this has to be a joke, you thought to yourself, letting out a small laugh before starting to make your way back towards the front door. “wait!” sungchan suddenly said when he noticed where you were headed, positioning himself in front of you, his hands unsurely rising up and softly popping onto your shoulders. “i wanna talk”

“i don’t think we have much to talk about, especially after you called me a whore behind my back”

sungchan winced, looking away from your eyes for a second before focusing again, an almost pleading look behind his own gaze.

“i know what i did was wrong, all of it, from start to end… it was wrong, it was awful, and i can’t apologize enough to make up for it. but i still want to make things right” sungchan practically begged, his tone soft, softer than you remember it ever having been. he sighed, a long sigh, and you almost felt bad for him in that moment — better yet, you felt bad enough for him to accept what he said next.

“can we try again?”

you didn’t blink, you didn’t even think or breath before saying “yes”, a rush of emotions flooding you, things you thought you had forgotten or moved past crashing you harder then they ever should.

sungchan smiled incredulously, pulling you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, unsure of what to even do with himself so just going for a tight embrace. you placed your own arms around his waist, your grip looser than his. you didn’t know what possessed you to say yes, it felt wrong but also right. you thought of jaehyun for a second, what you’d tell him. you were just going out though, so it was fine you guessed, leehan’s pouting when you told him probably more of a hassle to deal with — and then you remembered about the photos around sungchan’s apartment, the girl with him in them.

“what about your girlfriend?” you asked, getting an instant reply “i broke up with her last night”

there was no hesitation in sungchan’s speech, even less when he backed away ever so slightly, hands moving to cup your cheeks softly, his eyes glued to yours before both your lids fell close, his lips pressing into yours.

it was soft, a simple peck, a quick touch of his lips on yours — but then he sucked on your bottom one, and as you always used to do, you kissed him back. no hesitation again, no second thought, just pure instinct you assumed, what you two had in the past meddling with how you acted in the present, all the bad things that happened suddenly meaningless.

you now pulled at sungchan’s loose shirt, each tug at it seemingly making both of you more desperate. this wasn’t what either of you had expected from this evening. sungchan was sure you’d just slap him across the face — if you decided to actually show up, that is — and leave his apartment without a word. you expected to hear some shitty apologies from him, which in all truthfulness you did get, and to walk out after calling him a total asshole. neither of you expected this, that not even a half hour after you came into his home you’d be laying on his couch, the plush surface as comfortable as you remembered, while sungchan was positioned over you, his top long gone, thrown somewhere probably across his counter, your own shirt pushed halfway up your torso as your ex’s hands — the same ex you were supposed to absolutely hate — roamed freely across your body, warm fingertips leaving lingering trails across your sides, digging into your skin as if he wanted to pull you as close to him as humanly possible, the way his tongue slid into your mouth and allowed you to suck on it most definitely not something you predicted would ever happen again.

it was fast, not rushed, but definitely a swift pace. neither of you completely undressed, apparently no time for that. apart from sungchan already being shirtless, he only bothered with pushing his pants down enough for his bulging cock to pop out, veins running up it’s length while a drop of pre shined on his tip. you, however, let your shirt be as it was, the fabric bunched just below your chest, only interested in taking off your bottoms, your panties going along with them towards the ground.

sungchan’s eyes focused on your pussy, your clit ever so slightly moving from how aroused you were, wanting his fingers or tongue to play with it, your folds wet with your own arousal. sungchan spread your legs even more, his left hand placed at the back of your right thigh, holding it up against your chest, your other leg assuming the same position automatically. his free hand wrapped around his cock, giving it one single stroke before pressing his pink head against your clit, moving it side to side against it. you let out a small sigh merged with a moan, the slight relief heavenly. sungchan smirked, not needing to look at your blissful expression to know you liked it — he didn’t spend much time toying with you like that however, pushing away for just a second so he could spit on his cock, smearing his saliva along it’s entire thickness before finally tapping his dripping tip against your hole, looking up at you as he slid in, your eyes locked as both your faces contorted into ones that showed explicit pleasure, moving his hips the full way until he bottomed out.

“you feel just as good as i remember” sungchan muttered “such a pretty pussy, taking me so well”

no time was wasted after that. sungchan’s strokes started growing in speed, starting languid until he was pistoning into you, both hands now pressing your thighs against your chest, damn nearly completely folding you in half, his eyes shifting between your glossy with pleasure expression and the sight of your cunt swallowing him whole, your clit twitching as your high started to build, your entire being so immersed in how good sungchan’s cock felt stretching you out it didn’t take nearly as long as it usually would for your orgasm to threaten to rupture.

sungchan kept going, fucking you steadily, his own bliss or the way your slick walls clamped down around his girth not stopping him from giving you everything he had, all the pent up need he had felt for you ever since your break-up releasing itself in that moment — all it took being one louder moan from you, your fingers digging at his arms and your body shaking ever so slightly for him to cum too, following your lead almost, his seed filling your pussy up nicely.

you both stood still for a moment, catching your breaths, your firm grip on sungchan’s arms loosening and his fingers losing strength from the hold they had on the plush flesh of your thighs. you were both in nirvana, so caught up in your own ecstasy you forgot everything, both your minds numb in pleasure before slowly coming back to yourselves.

minutes later, after you both cleaned up, you now laid on sungchan’s bed, his scent almost overwhelming, everything surrounding you his — the hold he had around you, his sheets covering you up to your nose, even the t-shirt you wore.

“does this all mean i’m forgiven?” he questioned, breaking the silence you had surrounded yourselves with.

“you're still the shittiest boyfriend a girl could ever have, so i don’t know” you answered, this time actually thinking about what you were saying.

“you are laying in my bed tho, so where does that leave us?” sungchan replied, a small chuckle between his words.

“i guess we’re both just shitty… that’s probably it”

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